The Cursed Butler
by Hogwarts Duo
Summary: The crossover fic you always KNEW made sense but that no one ever wrote ... until now. What happens when a beastly butler is cursed, forced to find his true love in order to break the spell? Well, he meets a beautiful Scottish housekeeper, of course! But can she break the spell in time to set the butler free? (*spoiler alert: PROBABLY!) (Beauty & the Beast/Downton Abbey Crossover)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

Once upon a time, in the land known as Downton, there lived a benevolent king and his beautiful queen, beloved by all over whom they ruled.

The king and queen lived in a stately castle, far-removed from the village and farms. Its walls were mighty, constructed of pale yellow and brown stone. Elaborate windows shone from every side, with the peaks of every tower in perfect symmetry. The castle – named Downton Abbey – sat atop a rolling hill, with one lone road leading to the front gates and nothing but woodland surrounding the property.

Over a period of years, three beautiful daughters were born in the palace, but despite the king's hopes and prayers, he sired no sons; therefore, he decreed that upon his death, his entire kingdom would pass to his eldest daughter, the beautiful (and spoiled) Princess Mary. Knowing from a young age that she was destined to one day be queen, the princess learned early on the importance of her own happiness. Over the years, the servants of the castle came to dislike the princess, for the older she grew, the more entitled she became.

By the time the princess turned twelve years old, there remained only two servants in the household who ever had a good word to say about her. One was the new maid, Anna, who seemed to see a kindness in the princess that the others missed, and the other was Charles Carson, the butler.

Charles was the longest-serving member of the king's staff. His earliest days had been spent as a footman during the former king and queen's time, and he'd worked his way up to the position of butler by the time Princess Mary's father took the throne. Charles was well-regarded by the entire family, but it was the Princess Mary herself who'd stolen his heart, right from the moment she'd uttered her very first cry and the sound had traveled up from the nursery and sounded in the butler's attic rooms.

Over the years, Charles and the princess forged a sort of alliance: she turned to him with questions small and great about the inside workings of the castle (which, try as he might, he could not convince her to ignore, despite it being beneath her station to care about such things), and he defended her often callous and snide behavior to those under his command.

When Princess Mary was to come of age, a ball was planned for her sixteenth birthday. The queen outlined every precise detail of her vision for the ball to the housekeeper, a kindly older woman by the name of Mrs. Bute, but when the woman was called away to tend to her dying mother, the duty of planning the elaborate fête fell to none other than the butler himself.

Determined to make his favorite princess's birthday ball the greatest event Downton had ever seen, Charles became even more strict and demanding with the staff than before. It had been a bit of a shock to some of them, particularly the cook, who'd served the royal family for almost as long as the butler. She knew that while he'd always ruled the downstairs with an iron fist, there had been glimpses from time to time of a sort of kindness in his eyes. There had been rumors that he had lived a happy life prior to going into service; once, the housekeeper heard a whisper in town that he'd even been betrothed to be married.

Obviously, that had not come to fruition. Charles had indeed gone into service. As he moved ahead in his career, his softer side with the staff began to disappear completely, replaced by an icy formality that was not dissimilar to that of Princess Mary herself.

When the night of the ball finally arrived, the butler stood tall and firm by the castle's front doors, welcoming guests from neighboring kingdoms and cities as far away as London and announcing their arrival in the ballroom in his deep, booming baritone. He caught the princess's eye once and gave her the briefest nod, an acknowledgement between them of the importance of the ball itself … and of how each and every guest bowed and curtsied to _her_ and not just her parents –a true symbol of the future if ever there was one.

It was just as the last couple made it inside the ballroom that the winds suddenly picked up, coming in unexpectedly across the land. A harsh gale blew the doors open wide, causing them to slam against the walls and making the torchlight and candlelight flicker and burn out. A surprised, collective scream could be heard from inside the ballroom, but as Charles turned to see what was the matter, he was stopped in his tracks by what had appeared - seemingly from nowhere - in the doorway to the outside.

Standing in the frame of the large door was an old beggar woman. Her figure was hunched over, her gnarled fingers were wrapped around the head of an equally gnarled cane, and a hood was drawn over most of her face. Charles noted that, had she been standing straight, her head would have barely reached his shoulder … and he noted that an odor of something rather unclean was coming from her tattered robe.

"Please, sir," she said in a crackling, soft voice, "shelter for the evening? A storm is brewing, and I'm sure to perish before the sun rises unless I find a place to stay."

Barely able to hold in his disgust, Charles bellowed for her to leave before she soiled the entryway of the castle. But, just then, the woman shifted the long sleeve of her robe, and a rose appeared. Something about it was … odd. It tickled his mind, reminding him of days long since gone by, but he couldn't put his finger on _why,_ so distracted was he by her haggard appearance.

"There is no place for you here," he declared again. "This is not an inn."

"Do not be deceived by my ugly appearance, Carson," she advised in a quiet voice, "for beauty can also be found _within."_

The words were hauntingly familiar, but his mind latched onto something even more shocking and his eyes widened.

"How do you know my name?" he whispered.

But the beggar woman did not speak; she merely held the rose out to him, her meaning clear.

"A rose!" he bellowed. "You offer a _rose_ in payment for shelter in the most impressive castle in all the country?"

"Please," she asked again, and he barked out a harsh laugh.

"Be gone from here and never return," he ordered her, pointing the way down the path that would lead to the forest.

He turned his back to her, but when he touched the handle of the door, intending to close it on the woman, a blinding flash of light came from where she'd been standing. Thunder and lightning appeared from nowhere, and the harsh winds that had been blowing earlier picked up again most violently, blowing through the doors of the castle and throwing open those to the ballroom, frightening all of the guests … and the princess and her family as well.

Charles watched, transfixed, as the beggar woman's ugly appearance melted away: her filthy robe became a gown of purple silk, the hood disappeared to reveal a head of silver hair, and the gnarled cane turned to one of fine, polished wood, its pearl knob held in her hand.

"Your Highness," he whispered, and he fell to his knees to beg her forgiveness. "I apologize … I … I had no idea …" he stammered, but it was too late, for the woman whose face he was staring up into now was that of none other than the princesses' grandmother, the former queen … and, evidently, a powerful enchantress.

He did not see that the guests had also witnessed the woman's transformation; he did not notice that they were fleeing through the castle's side door and hastening to their carriages, with Princess Mary, her parents, and sisters following in their wake, intent on soothing everyone's fears and encouraging them to return to the party.

"You've changed, Carson," the enchantress said sadly. "You were always so steadfast and true, but kind-hearted. And not only to my eldest granddaughter."

He had no reply, and he hung his head in shame as he continued to kneel before her feet.

"You have been dutiful, yes, but it has been many years since you've been _loving,_ " the enchantress told him. There was no anger in her voice, merely statement of fact.

"Your Highness, I … I …" He stammered, then fell silent once more, for he could see the shameful truth in her eyes.

The enchantress took a step back, raising her cane and swirling it in the air above her head. The thunder, lightning, and wind came to a halt, replaced by a soft glow that cast about the entire castle and its grounds. It put Charles in mind of a thin veil that was cascading down over them all.

He watched, speechless, as the rose that had been clutched in her hand spun of its own accord before his eyes, landing in a glass dome conjured from thin air and settling on the cobbled stone before him.

Charles gasped as he felt a faint pain clench his heart. Worried he was suffering an attack, his hand reached up and grasped at his liveried chest, but the pain disappeared and he felt a coldness seeping throughout him in its wake.

"You used to wish you'd gone another way," the enchantress murmured, her voice soft and wistful. "Perhaps, one day, you still can."

"That way is closed to me now," he spat harshly, finally looking into her steely grey eyes, a challenge visible in his own. "You know this."

The rose glowed in the glass before him.

"It's time, Carson," the enchantress said.

"Time for what?"

"You must learn once again what it means to _love,_ " she said kindly. "And you must learn how to earn another's love in return. Until that happens, you'll remain here, unable to leave."

"And Princess Mary? The _family …_?" he enquired, aghast.

"Will not be able to return," the enchantress said, "unless you are successful."

Charles stood then, with some difficulty, and bent to pick up the rose. He handled it carefully, as if not only the dome but the rose itself were of the most fragile spun glass, able to crumble in his hands at the slightest tremble.

"The rose will continue to bloom for you as the years move on. But, like all things, it will eventually die. You have until the last petal falls at the close of your forty-fifth birthday to accomplish your task," she said.

"And if I am not successful?" he whispered.

"Then, Carson," she replied, "you'll remain here forever, a prisoner of your beastly, unloving heart."

"It is an _impossible_ task," he said, defeated.

She stepped off the terrace and then turned to look him in the eye, allowing only a moment to pass before turning in a bright flash of light and disappearing before his eyes.

Charles made his way into the castle, ignoring the soft footfalls of the staff as they peered out from behind draperies and staircases. They watched as he made his way to the attic in the West Wing, the butler's domain for as long as any of them could remember, far removed from the rest of the servants' quarters.

He entered his bedroom and set the rose atop the table by his window, and he gasped loudly as a small, silver hand mirror appeared by the rose's side. He lifted it gently, not sure what to make of it. But when he imagined the princess, wondering in a whispered breath where she was and if she were safe, the mirror showed her to him. She was riding atop her prized steed, heading steadily across the lands for what he instinctively knew would be her parents' smaller landholding closer to the city proper. He glimpsed the king's carriage further off in the distance.

He put the mirror down on the table, determined not to touch it ever again, and forced himself to change and get into bed.

But sleep would not come that night, nor for several nights after.

Despite the enchantress's warning, Charles felt his heart only grow colder as the days and months wore on. He was brusque with the staff, interacting with them only when absolutely necessary. He took to having his luncheon alone in his pantry more often than not, as the others seemed to be intimidated by his presence far enough at the evening meal in the servant's hall.

There was no celebration when he turned forty-one.

Or forty-four.

As he climbed the stairs toward his bedroom one evening, the need to focus on his steps great because of the amount of wine he'd consumed in his solitude, Charles began to feel all hope slipping away. His mind turned to happier times, times before he was even in service, and his eyes landed on the wall above his fireplace.

He reached out and pulled a dusty sheet aside to reveal an old portrait - of himself, in younger days, beside a young woman with dark hair.

The enchantress's voice whispered in the back of his mind: _"… beauty can be found_ _ **within**_ _…"_

Instead of saddening him, as it so often did, the portrait angered him tonight. He poured one last glass of wine and sat before the painting, staring at it and trying to remember when his life had all gone so horribly wrong.

The rose's light surged, and he caught the flash out the corner of his eye. The harsh reminder enraged him, and he hurled his wine glass at the portrait with a mighty roar escaping his mouth. The glass broke through part of the canvas itself, sticking in the fabric. When he rushed over to the fireplace and reached up to pull down on the stem, the painting ripped apart even more.

The rose glowed once again, and Carson tossed the remainder of the broken glass into the fire and slumped into a chair, completely defeated.

"It's hopeless," he whispered, and a tear fell down his cheek.

"Who could _ever_ learn to love _me?"_

 _ **A/N:** _We would like to thank you for taking the time to read our story. If you're so inclined, we'd love to hear what you think. We will be taking turns answering any messages and reviews we receive so your comments will be answered. We promise. Also, the entire story has been written which means updates should be timely and regular. Watch your emails and tumblr notices for update alerts! ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow! Thank you so much for the overwhelming support and love for the story. We truly appreciate your reviews, messages, reblogs, and love. If you get a chance, hop over to Tumblr and check out the amazing artwork by DameofDownstairs! And now …**

 **Chapter 2**

It was another glorious day in Thirsk. The pale blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze rustled the vivid green blades of grass and the wildflowers, which peppered the landscape with bright colors and heady scents. The chickens in the yard searched, scratched, and pecked for their morning meal while, in the nearby field, a flock of sheep was busy meandering through the meadow. The sun shone brightly down upon the lush hillside, bathing a small cottage in warmth and happiness, reflecting the attitudes of the occupants of the house: a middle-aged woman and her father who, while not native to this part of the region, had chosen to make this their home many years ago.

Elsie Hughes stepped out of the front door of the cottage that she shared with her father and down the steps, pausing at the bottom to take a deep breath and to stretch her body heavenward. With her head tossed back, she relished the warmth of the sun's rays on her skin and the contrasting coolness of the breeze. She filled her lungs with the fresh air, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to be invaded by the sheer beauty of the day. The sunlight danced and shimmered on her dark, silver-threaded hair and across her creamy but freckled complexion until it settled on her face and brought a smile to her lips. She wondered, briefly, if everyone else in the world experienced mornings like this, where everything seemed to be in harmony. Yet alongside that thought stirred a restless feeling, as if some grand adventure beckoned from a place she had yet to explore.

Pushing that idea from her mind, Elsie hugged the little maroon book she was holding a little more tightly, and she started her trek to the nearby village. Days like these were mixed blessings. On the one hand, she enjoyed interacting with some of the locals, learning more about their lives, travels, and tales. But she always returned home with an uneasy feeling, a sense that she didn't quite fit in with the villagers, as if she wasn't entirely accepted by them. They appeared pleasant enough, but there was always that nagging feeling that all was not as it seemed, that she was not privy to some grand inside joke. If truths were told, though, she wasn't overly concerned with the opinion of others. She was loved and appreciated by her father … quirks, warts, and all. Elsie had no desire to be like anyone else, and her strong personality set her apart from the other women in their little town.

It was true that she wasn't a conventional woman by most standards. Colin Hughes had always encouraged his daughter to be independent and to think for herself. He'd involved her in many of his projects, training and instructing her, guiding her as he created new and fascinating inventions. More often than not, she was the one who was able to analyze a problem and offer a sensible solution, allowing Colin to correct his mistake and complete the project at hand. She was highly skilled at organizing the most complex set of circumstances, looking at things from a different perspective, and always supporting her father in his grandest overtures. Her father, in turn, had encouraged her to embrace life, to follow her heart, and to lead with her head. Together, they had forged a happy life for themselves.

Her father had instilled in Elsie a love of books from the time she was old enough to sit still and hold them with both hands. He taught her to read and had purchased several novels for her during some of his travels to trade shows or for her birthdays. It was odd to see her sitting by the fireside at night without a book in her hand or going to bed without something to read tucked under her arm. She had told him on more than one occasion that she enjoyed reading about faraway places, grand adventures, impossible tales of heroism and despair. Sometimes, as he tinkered with one of his latest inventions, he would ask her to regale him with stories from one of her favorite books, listening intently as she described every detail and infused her words with such an overwhelming amount of emotions and enthusiasm that he was sometimes moved to tears as she neared the end of the adventure.

So, it was of no surprise that Elsie was a frequent visitor to the bookshop in town. She had become friends with the owner, and while he was in the market to sell books, he allowed Elsie to borrow them, trusting her to take excellent care of them and to return them promptly in pristine condition. She was one of the only ladies in the village who could read and who relished it as much as he appreciated finding and collecting new volumes. They had formed an unusual bond early on, and Elsie considered him one of the few in the village that truly understood her and her longing for excitement.

On her way to the bookshop, Elsie hummed a song that she remembered from her childhood. She had no recollection of her mother singing it to her, though her father had told her it was one her mother sang to her as a baby, one he made sure to pass along to her. On days when she felt particularly impatient and longing for adventure, she would recall the melody and it seemed to ease her mind and calm her restless spirit, even if only for a little while. As she topped the hill that led down into the village, she paused, surveying the hustle and bustle of the townsfolk. Everyone seemed to be in such a hurry, dashing about from one place to another, selling and purchasing goods before scurrying home for another hard day of farming or minding their own shops.

With renewed excitement running through her, Elsie stepped into the bookshop, smiling as she heard the familiar tinkle of the little bell above the door. An older man with grey hair and thick spectacles popped up from behind the counter and greeted her warmly.

"Somehow, I knew I would be seeing you today," he announced as he walked from behind the counter to accept the book Elsie held in her hand.

"I couldn't put it down. A beanstalk and an ogre … magical beans and a young boy … it was quite the thrilling tale! I stayed up much later than I should have to finish it. Thank you, again, for allowing me to borrow it."

He waved away her thanks. "Nonsense! It's my pleasure, indeed. It's nice to have some appreciation for the books and my efforts in finding new ones," he said with a wink and a smile. "And speaking of … I spoke with my brother. He's supposed to be sending me a few new novels, so we will both have something refreshing to read in a few weeks' time."

"Oh goodness, that's exciting!" Elsie walked through the bookshop and allowed her fingers to dance reverently along the spines, pausing to read the titles of some, smiling as she remembered the stories of others. Her hand hovered over a small book with a blue binding and gold lettering stamped on the spine. Her mind was flooded with images conjured from the written words on the pages, familiar and haunting images which thrilled and intrigued her.

"Your favorite," he announced with no surprise at all to his voice. "Not your usual story of a princess in distress and a handsome prince determined to save her, is it?"

"Hmm, definitely not," she answered, gently leafing through the pages, her eyes scanning the words and bringing the story of Dracula to life once more in her heart and mind. "I've read it so many times, I think I could recite the words by heart," she admitted a little shyly.

The kind, old man smiled and reached out to touch her arm. "If you like it all that much … it's yours!"

"But sir, I couldn't possibly …"

"Nonsense. I insist! I'm happy to gift it to you. I know you'll appreciate the story for years to come or pass it along to someone else in need of excitement and an adventure."

Elsie smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Oh, I will, indeed. I'll read it tonight after my chores and dinner. Thank you again."

With gratitude and happiness, Elsie exited the bookshop and continued on her walk through the small village, but she didn't get very far before something caught her eyes. A little girl named Abigail was at the laundry basin, but it wasn't just the girl that drew Elsie's attention. She had seen the lass there many times before. But this time, in her small hands, a very distracted Abigail also held a book, and she was looking at it with a forlorn expression.

"Good morning, Abigail. How are you today?"

"Morning, Elsie." She greeted Elsie with a warm smile and tried to quickly hide the book she had just been holding.

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing. I mean, that is to say, well, I was merely looking at the pictures in the book. I can't read, but I'm very good at making up stories to go along with the pictures."

Elsie sat down beside the young girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure you are, and one day, who knows? You may write your own book and draw your own illustrations to go with it."

Abigail shrugged. "Kind of hard to do when you can't read. I'm not as smart as you."

Elsie scoffed and hugged the girl a little tighter. "I'll hear none of that sort of talk, thank you very much. You simply need a little instruction and guidance. You know, I could teach you, if you'd like. We could start with the book you have here, and it wouldn't take away any time from your chores on your family's farm."

"Would you? Would you really?" Her little face lit up and she reached behind her to show Elsie the book she'd been hiding.

"I would, indeed. Before long, we'll have you reading anything and everything. But, for now, let's just start with the basics."

And that's exactly what they did. While the laundry was soaking in the soapy water, Elsie and Abigail huddled together, none the wiser that they were being watched by someone across the way.

Joe Burns was considered the most handsome man in the village. Tall and tanned, he posed a striking figure when compared to the other farmers in the surrounding area. With dark brown hair, toned muscles, brown eyes, and an imposing strength, he was certainly the envy of most of the villagers when it came to physical appearances, and he was considered quite the catch.

But Joe wasn't simply handsome, he was prosperous, too. His crops and livestock always sold for a substantial price, and he seemed more than willing to flaunt his good fortune in the village pub at every opportunity, much to the delight of the patrons and the pub owner. Most of the eligible women in the town vied for his attention, going out of their way to earn his favor in the hopes of winning his heart … and his farm. Unfortunately for them, Joe had his eyes and his heart set on one woman. He wanted none other than Elsie Hughes. He considered her the prettiest in the town, despite her age, and it excited him that she wasn't like the others. She barely gave him any notice at all, which made him pursue her that much harder. And with the cottage and her father's land, Joe knew that, if they were to marry, he would be even more prosperous, _more_ powerful, and _more_ respected in their little village – and in the surrounding ones, too. And if that wasn't enough, he could also lay claim to the prettiest woman, though her tongue and fiery temper would need taming. Those were things he would take pleasure in correcting _after_ their vows. He would show her how good their life could be together.

Joe watched as Elsie worked with Abigail, a book shared between them. He couldn't understand why Elsie would spend so much time with her nose buried in a book. Most women in their thirties were busy raising children, tending to their own homes, and making sure their husbands were cared for – in all senses of the word. If they ventured into town, it was to purchase bread, eggs, milk, or some other essential household item. Elsie, however, was not like her peers, those housewives who bustled about. Almost every day, he would see her visiting the bookshop, taking one book in and leaving with another. He wondered when she ever found the time to darn her father's socks, milk the cow, cook the meals, and do the countless other things that should be demanding her attention.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine a life together with Elsie. She would be happy to have him as her husband. Their first few months of marriage would be rocky, but it would be worth it in the end. Soon, they'd have children running around the cottage, although perhaps not many given her age. Her days would be filled with cleaning their home, sewing and mending clothes for him and their bairns. The smell of a hearty breakfast would wake him each morning, and the aroma of a well-prepared supper would greet him when he ventured home in the evening. He would complement her, of course, for her efforts, would make certain she knew she was lucky to be his wife, and then he would join the other men at the pub for a pint or two before coming home to the comforts of a warm hearth and bed with a more than willing wife. A smirk played across his lips as he settled in to his little fantasy.

"Daydreaming again, Joe?" The voice of his trusted companion, Jos Tufton, broke into his thoughts and caused him to stand up a little straighter.

"Admiring what will soon be mine, Jos. Make no mistake. Elsie will be my wife, and soon. She's the best in the village, and I deserve the best. She's a healthy, strong, beautiful woman, and she's a hard worker, too. She's intelligent and well-read, too, but those won't matter so much when she's cooking and cleaning," he joked rather loudly. "No, she's different. We will have strapping lads to inherit my lands and money, maybe try for a girl if she had her heart set on one. Why, she should consider herself fortunate that I've chosen her to be my wife and to merge my lands with those of her father! Don't you agree? I could have anyone I wanted, but I'm choosing her. Her father should actually be thanking me for taking his spinster daughter off his hands, offering her stability and a chance at motherhood. If he signed his lands over to me as a dowry, he could live out the rest of his days in that little house of theirs, and I'd provide him an allowance. Rather generous of me, I do believe. I get a wife, and he gets to retire."

"Of course, Joe, of course." Jos Tufton was nothing if not loyal to a fault. There were so many flaws in Joe's plans, though the short, round, red-faced man was in no position to challenge him on any of them. Having Joe as his constant companion was a perk that Jos did not wish to lose. Being the sidekick to the most popular man in town opened doors and presented opportunities that would not otherwise be his to claim. "But, have you told her that she's to be your wife … or even broached the subject with her father? You'll need his permission, especially if you expect to take his land."

"Not yet, Tufton. All in good time. How could they refuse, though? I'm doing them a favor, really. Once she's my wife, I'm sure she'll settle down, get her nose out of those blasted books, and focus on the really important things like having our children and cooking our meals."

"Perhaps you could propose to her by slipping a note into a book," Joe said, laughing much too hard at his own joke. "At least that way you know she'll actually listen to you for a change."

"Hmmpf! I could grab her attention any time I wanted, Jos. Just stand there and watch."

With an air of authority, Joe marched over to the water basin and cleared his throat to gain Elsie's attention. "Teaching her to read? Whatever for? It's not like she'll need that skill to clean house and tend to the children she'll have once she's grown."

Elsie stood and handed the book back to Abigail before squaring her shoulders. "I'll meet you back here on Tuesday to continue, or you can ask your parents for permission to visit me at the cottage when you have spare time," she said sweetly to the young girl before turning her steely gaze towards Joe, her lips drawn into a thin line and her Scottish temper begging to be unleashed upon the rude man.

"Who's to say Abigail wants to marry and have children, Joe? By the time she's an adult, she may decide to move away from here, find her own adventures, and make her own mark on the world."

Joe shook his head and laughed. "Nonsense, Elsie. She will grow up to be a farmer's wife just like her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother before her. You've been reading too many novels, filling your head with big dreams of things that don't happen in reality. You should have settled down by now yourself," he said, puffing out his chest and throwing his head back a little. "I'm sure some man would still be willing to marry you and offer you a secure future."

Elsie strode past Joe, not bothering to answer his outrageous claims, but Joe was not so easily deterred. He and Jos followed Elsie for a bit, still trying to convince her that the life she wanted and the dreams she had were unrealistic and foolish, that she should settle for stability and security.

"I want adventure, something more than a provincial life, Joe. Nothing and no one will change my mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things I need to see to at home." Turning her back to them, she rolled her eyes and strode purposefully along the lane, listening keenly for their footsteps as she walked away. Once she was sure she was not being followed, Elsie visibly relaxed and decided to take a few minutes to calm herself before returning home. It wouldn't do to let her father see her so upset.

Sitting amongst the wildflowers in the meadow, she began to think of her current life and her possible future. She wasn't opposed to settling down and marrying, if the right man came along, though her hopes for a happy marriage were dwindling with each passing birthday. However, she wasn't going to settle for just anyone, either. She needed someone to respect her, to challenge her, and to see her as an equal and not some poor lass who needed saving. There was an entire world out there to explore, places she longed to visit in person, not just on the pages of some book. And one day … perhaps soon … she would get her opportunity. Until then, she would take her adventures through her books and her own imagination. Joe Burns and his grand dreams for their future paled in comparison to the possibilities of a life lived on her own terms, perhaps with someone who appreciated her interests and quirks, someone who loved her unconditionally. And if that right man never came along, then she was prepared for those chapters of her life, too. Only time would tell …

 **TBC …**


	3. Chapter 3

Elsie stood in the doorway quietly and watched her father. He had been working with that particular clock most of the morning, and unfortunately, most of the previous day, too. She had thought, more than once, to offer her assistance, maybe take a look to see if she could discern the problem, but something had stopped her. It was as if part of her sensed that this was, for her father, more a matter of pride and determination than actually repairing the clock. So, she remained steadfast and observed him, the way his brow furrowed from time to time, the way his eyes darted around his work table for this small spring or that shiny metal nut.

"Blast it all!" His raised voice caused Elsie to jump and her eyes caught a glimpse of the little golden gear as it rolled across the floor and underneath the nearby cabinet. Her father sighed heavily and looked up as Elsie entered the room. "I'm very sorry you had to hear that, Elsie. Seems my fingers are too large for such delicate work," he said, holding up his hands by way of demonstration. "The larger pieces aren't any trouble at all, but the more delicate the clock, the smaller the working parts. This one has been giving me trouble since yesterday. I suppose it's time for a break," he said softly as he scrubbed his hand over his face.

She smiled sweetly at him and kissed his cheek. "Why not let me try? Once the gears are in place, then you can finish repairing it," she said, hoping that he would take her up on her offer. Some of her best memories were ones where they worked side by side, mending a clock, taking them to a nearby village and selling them for a handsome profit. Why, everyone in the area knew that her father was quite the skilled worker and would seek his assistance for all manner of things, not just clocks. He had a solid reputation when it came to his handiwork, both on the farm and inside his little workshop. It filled him with pleasure and pride to be able to mend family heirlooms for those he considered his friends. It also didn't hurt that it brought in extra money when the farm wasn't doing as well. In a sense, he was helping his friends and they, in turn, were unwittingly helping him.

He took her hand and cradled it to his cheek. "Very well. Give it a go. Show me what ye can do, lass." He kissed the back of her hand and paused, studying her slender fingers one by one, her delicate, though strong hand. He reached out to grasp her other hand and gave them both a squeeze. "Your hands are just like your Mam's. So many things about you remind me of her," he said softly before releasing them. "When I look at you, it's like seeing the best bits of her and a little of myself." His voice quivered a tiny bit at the thought of Elsie's mother, so he cleared his throat and motioned towards the clock, encouraging his daughter to see to the task at hand.

For a brief moment, Elsie thought of asking her father to tell her more about her mother but decided it was not the right time. He was already frustrated by the repairing of the clock and visibly moved by his recollections. Perhaps today was not the best day to broach that topic, no matter how much she loved hearing the stories he'd tell and listening to her Da's voice as he laughed at a happy memory from years past. There were many that he would keep to himself, many questions he'd not answer, but she was usually content to hear the ones he would.

She glanced once more at the broken clock and cleared her mind then nodded. "Right then, let me show you how much I've learned from this wonderful man I happen to know."

The next two hours were spent happily between father and daughter. Colin watched with pride as Elsie concentrated intently on the job before her, her nimble fingers easily manipulating the numerous moving parts. Once the gears of the clock, both large and small, were inserted and the nuts were tightened, she expertly added the tricky coils, squealing loudly as one bounced out of the casing and tapped her father on the forehead. Several minutes were spent in uproarious laughter before Elsie located the offending spring and added it back to the mechanical beast. As she tightened the last of the pieces, she looked up and smiled. "You'll have to help with the pendulum. You've never taught me how to connect that to the gears. And, since it's the piece that makes the entire thing run smoothly and keep accurate time, it's the most crucial element."

"Elsie, love, remember what I've told you time and time again? Everything, no matter how great or small, is just as important as the next piece, be that in clock mending, farm animals, crops, or people – _especially_ people. Just like these gears, nuts, bolts, pendulums, and the casing, we all have our special part to play in the overall workings of things. Never, ever underestimate your abilities or your place in this world."

He reached over and took his daughter's hand as he looked deep into her blue eyes. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you will always, always keep that in your heart. One day, I won't be around to remind you, and it's important for me to know you'll remember my words, lass."

With tears in her eyes, Elsie fiercely nodded her head, silently swearing an oath to her father that she would take his words and brand them on her heart. Something inside her told her that, perhaps, he was preparing her for something, though she was loathe to seriously contemplate the matter, lest she learn something unsettling. Elsie had never been one to back away from a challenge or to hide beneath the blankets, shutting out the harsh realities of the world, but where her father was concerned, she treaded more carefully. He was her only family, her closest confidant, the one person who truly accepted her for herself, and adored her and each of her interests.

Satisfied that she had taken him and his words of wisdom seriously, Colin gave a quick nod before refocusing on the clock. "Well, it's time you learned about pendulums and how to make the clock tick and tock. And, when we take this one to sell, you can keep the money for yourself, buy some cloth for a nice dress or some ribbons, maybe save a little for a rainy day."

"Or buy some books," she added with a twinkle in her eyes. "But I don't know that I can part with this clock. It may not look like much, but … well, we sort of built it together, and that makes it special. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep this one for myself. We have others to sell, and if we need the money, we can take some of our goods from the farm to the market."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that the farm wasn't doing as well as she assumed, that while they had more than enough to eat and their livestock was well-tended, they simply needed a little more money to keep it all running, especially for those winter months which weren't very far away. "Very well, Elsie. I'd say you've earned it. Just remember to oil it from time to time, keep those gears running smoothly and this piece will last you a lifetime. It can be a happy memory for you when I'm gone."

"Oh, don't say things like that! You're going to be around for a long time to come, and I'll not hear another word about the matter," she said sternly. She'd already lost one parent. The idea of losing her Da was not one she entertained … ever. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to walk into the village. I promised Abigail I'd help her with her reading. She's doing quite well. Her mother stopped me just yesterday to thank me and to say that Abigail was trying to teach her a little every evening. Rather sweet, if you ask me."

"With your love of reading and willingness to help others, I'm sure mother and daughter will be borrowing books from you in no time at all. It's good to see you so happy, Elsie. Helping others suits you, and I'm very proud of you, daughter. Now, go! I'm sure she's waiting for you. Enjoy the afternoon, and we can talk about going to the market another day."

Elsie thanked her Da and kissed his cheek. "See you later, then, and I'll help you pack up the cart for the market."

Elsie grabbed her basket and waved to her father before setting off down the lane. What she failed to notice was Jos Tufton and Joe Burns topping the hill from the opposite direction and heading straight for her little cottage.

As Colin put away the extra equipment and tools from the work table, he began to hum a little song. He had truly enjoyed spending the better part of the afternoon with Elsie, watching her brilliant mind at work, seeing his love of timepieces reflected in his daughter's eyes, and taking pride as she took a broken, discarded clock and made it whole again, useful, and cherished. He turned around to retrieve the clock and take it back with him inside the cottage, intent on putting it on the nightstand in Elsie's bedroom, when he was startled to see Joe Burns and Jos Tufton standing in the doorway, essentially blocking his path.

"Mr. Burns, Mr. Tufton … what brings you this way?" he asked, thankful that Elsie had already gone into the village. She had shared with him all the stories of the recent unpleasant encounters with Joe, and it made him incredibly angry that his daughter was subjected to such treatment.

Joe did not wait for an invitation to be invited into the shop or to be seated. He took liberties on both counts, plopped down unceremoniously onto the work bench, and propped his feet up on the table. "I came to make my intentions known to you and to make you an offer."

Colin was not amused in the least, and there could be no offer enticing enough to make him want to accept, or even listen, to another word Joe Burns had to say. "Mr. Burns, I was just finishing up in the workshop, so I will kindly ask you to remove your feet from my table. I'm sure you and your friend, Mr. Tufton, have more important things to do than to waste your time here. I know that I have several more chores to do before nightfall, so if you'd kindly …"

Joe laughed enthusiastically, his whole body shaking. Likewise, as if he fully understood some insider joke, Tufton chimed in with a fake laugh of his own. "You don't understand me! I'm not here to talk about the weather or to pay a social call. I'm here to let you know that I fully intend to marry your daughter, Elsie. She's the finest lass around, and while she is not a young girl anymore, I believe there's still time to give me a son or two … if we're diligent about it," he finished with a wicked sneer.

Tufton clapped Burns on the back and nodded his head in agreement. "Shouldn't take you long, Joe, to sire a son! Everyone knows you're the manliest man in town."

"That I am, Jos. And Elsie should be grateful that I'm here today, making Colin here a deal." Joe turned his attention back to the clockmaker. "I'm fully prepared to marry Elsie in a few weeks … as soon as the arrangements can be made, in fact. She'll become Mrs. Burns, and we will move to my farm on the other side of the meadow. You, sir, can continue to live here, making your little clocks, tending to your few sheep, cows, chickens … whatever it is you do around here on this little bit of land. But, as part of Elsie's dowry, the actual land will be signed over to me. Of course, you'll never have to worry about the taxes or the harsh winters. I'll see to it that you're debt free and live comfortably." He took a deep breath and his chest filled with pride, sure that his offer was one the old man could not afford to reject. "Shall I wait until Elsie returns from the village? We can share the good news with her together, eat supper as a family … plus Jos … and announce our engagement in the village square tomorrow?"

Red hot anger boiled up inside Colin Hughes. How dare this arrogant, self-centered, bore of a man come onto his lands and proceed to dictate what his future would be and that of his only child? He slammed his hand down on the worktable and glared into Joe's face. "No! None of that is acceptable to me … not now, not ever! Elsie is her own woman, capable of choosing a husband for herself."

"Yes, she's done remarkably well at that so far," Joe mocked. "We've all seen the line of suitors breaking down her door every day for just a chance to walk her into the village! You do know what they say about her in town, don't you? That she's too independent, too wild to be tamed. No man within a five village radius would even dream of trying to court her. I'm trying to do you a favor, Colin! Without my offer, who do you think will step up and marry her, give her that financial security and bairns, give you grandchildren?"

"The answer is and will always be a resounding NO! Elsie is not some bargaining tool in a grand scheme to claim my farm or continue the family bloodlines. Burns, you could never make her happy, only miserable, and I will not give my consent for her marriage to you. You'd do better courting one of the ladies in the village who seem to hang on your every word. I hear you're not lacking for company in the pub every night," he challenged.

"That's true, Joe. You could have the pick of any of those women, and not just in our town. Why not leave Elsie to her spinster life and wait until Hughes, here, is gone. Then she'll have no choice but to take you up on whatever offer you make." Joe grinned as Jos did exactly as he'd been instructed in goading the old man with a glimpse of a future life for Elsie once he was dead and buried.

"True, Jos, I could do that. Or, I could simply pay the taxes on this little bit of land when the next payment is due and take the lands for myself. Then, we'll see how willing Colin, here, is to support my marriage to Elsie, and how willing she is to accept my generous terms once her father is threatened with losing his lands and his reputation."

"Don't go patting yourself on the back just yet, Burns. The taxes aren't due for several months, and you have no way of knowing the status of my finances. You may be rich and popular, but you're certainly not well liked in the community among good, decent folks. Once word of this reaches them, how many of them do you think will step in to help Elsie and me? I can guarantee you … more than you'd ever think possible. After all, if you could bully your way into a marriage and a land deal, it would only be a matter of time before neighboring farms would be at risk for something even more devious." Colin walked over to the door and gestured for the men to take their leave. "The best thing I can suggest for you is to leave my daughter alone. Threatening me won't endear you to her at all, mark my words, and any attempt to steal my farm from under my nose will only cause you more trouble. My daughter and this farm are not for sale … not to you … not to anyone! I'd rather see Elsie live out her days as a single, independent woman with a fierce streak, a sharp tongue, and a wit to match the sharpest in the land than to see her tied to you, miserable, with your sobbing bairns clinging to her skirts! Now, I suggest you leave, and take this … this … leech of a man, with you!"

Joe stood up and stretched, as if he had been a welcomed guest during the entire exchange. "Mark my words, Hughes, this is certainly the best thing for you and for Elsie. I'll give you a few days to think about it and to recount your money for those taxes. You know where to reach me _when_ you change your mind." He blew two short breaths on his fingertips and scrubbed them across his chest as if he was polishing his well-manicured nails. "I think Jos and I will enjoy a little stroll into the village, take a gander at all the pretty sights, and maybe have a little conversation with my future bride," he finished with a menacing laugh.

"Please tell the barman's daughter that I wish you both great happiness," Colin shouted as Joe and Jos set off down the path Elsie had traveled an hour before. The last thing Joe Burns and Jos Tufton heard was a string of curses hurled at their backs in Gaelic and the slamming of the large, wooden door.

* * *

 **A/N: We hope you enjoyed the new chapter. :)  
Thank you so much to everyone who has so kindly reviewed the first two! We're ecstatic that you're enjoying it so far, and we'd like to send particular thanks to the Guest Reviewers to whom we cannot personally respond.  
xx,  
** **Hogwarts Duo & ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to all of you for your lovely reviews! This is a slightly longer chapter, but we meet many more characters ... and see the Abbey. :)  
HUGE thanks go out to dameofdownstairs for the fab cover art for this story! Check out our post on tumblr to see the entire thing! **  
**Hugs,**  
 **CSotA & Hogwarts Duo **

* * *

By the time Elsie returned home, Joe and Jos were long gone. But as she crested the small hill and spotted Colin packing up the cart, she noticed a strangeness in his demeanor. While gentle with the clocks, he was a bit rougher as he moved around a blanket, tossing it aside. He nearly dropped one of the smaller clocks, and she heard a soft muttering that made her gasp.

"Da?" She approached him quickly then. "Whatever is the matter?"

Her father looked up quickly, and Elsie noted a faint blush appear on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to hear that."

Elsie watched as Colin took a deep breath before reaching for the last two items going to market. He placed them atop the pile, and she helped him with the canvas that would cover the lot, tying it down as they'd done countless times before.

"You've packed up more than I expected," she ventured, still unsure just what was wrong with her dear Da, but very aware that something was amiss.

"Well, who knows? Perhaps it'll be a busier weekend than last time," he hedged.

"Perhaps," Elsie replied quietly.

She didn't want to upset her Da, but Elsie suspected more than he even thought about the state of their financial situation. The farm wasn't producing well this year despite what should have been ideal conditions, and the last trip to market hadn't been profitable, not really. Her suspicion was that he was taking as much as he could this time around to provide more variety, and she'd not be surprised if he set up in a different corner of the market, too.

As Elsie headed inside, her mind already planning the contents of the food basket she'd be sending along with him, she could feel Colin watching her from where he stood by the barn. She turned, and the smile that came to his lips put her mind somewhat at ease.

It wasn't until later, when Colin Hughes was seated in the cart and about to head out, that Elsie managed to address her concern. She pulled herself up on the step and laid a hand upon his arm.

"Da? What is it? Something's eating away at you, I can tell."

He turned to her and took her hand in his, pressing it gently before leaning down and placing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll miss you," was his answer. "Please, Elsie … be careful while I'm gone. Be vigilant, and mind how you go."

"Why?" She was puzzled; it was not their usual exchange before he left. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was frightened.

He sighed deeply, and Elsie could see in his eyes that he'd come to some decision.

"Joe Burns came by today," he said, and the look on Elsie's face was clear enough.

"Oh, no. Please tell me he wasn't bothering you, Da. He's such a boorish … oooh!" she grumbled.

Colin's laugh surprised her. "Oh, I think perhaps _I_ bothered _him,_ actually. And that rascal who's always with him …"

"Jos Tufton. Yes. I ran into them in the village the other day, too. Do I even dare ask why they were here? I'm sure I know already," she added with a gentle roll of the eyes.

"He claims that you can be happy together," Colin said. "And if that hadn't been enough, he seems to be under the impression that he's good enough for you. Which he's _not,_ of course."

Elsie drew her lip underneath her teeth as she turned away from her Da and gazed out over their property. She noted the peeling paint on the barn, and the gate and fence rail that could use repair. Her eyes fell upon the crops, and she remarked with a pang that the green was already dying away even though the season was barely half over.

And, closing her eyes briefly, she remembered passing the tax collector on the lane when she returned from the village the day before … and the scowl upon his face as he'd grudgingly tipped his hat to her.

"The Burns farm is the most successful around," she murmured. "I know why he was here, Da, and he's not wrong. It would solve so many problems -"

" _No._ "

Her father's voice was so firm that it took her aback.

"I'm sorry, lass," he said more softly, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "I didn't mean to scare you. But don't you _ever_ think that marrying that … that … that miserable _oaf_ is the path meant for you."

"I know," she replied. "But the farm …"

Her voice trailed off, and Colin was heartbroken to hear the despair in it. Elsie was usually the optimistic one, the one who would always show him the brightness and love in the world at times when he would only see hardship. The small ways she cared for him and others, the sweetness of her voice when she was humming in the kitchen, or the kindness she showed to the children of the village … they were all the things that kept him going.

"The farm will survive," he said, clasping her hand again before relinquishing it and picking up the reins. "I hope to return with an empty cart and a sack full of coins, you know," he added with a wink. "Now, what can I bring back for my favorite lass?"

Elsie smiled broadly, then looked up at the sky and tapped her finger to her chin, pretending to think.

"Hm, I'm not sure," she teased. "Oh! I know!"

"Do you?" he smiled.

Elsie nodded, and the light from the sunset bounced off of her auburn tresses.

"A rose, I think," she said. "The sweetest smelling rose you can find."

"A rose? Surely that's not all." It was the same reply he gave every time he went to the market, and Elsie played along.

"That's all I need, Da," she replied, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "That, and for you to return safely."

"Then I shall try my very best," he answered, and he smiled again as Elsie stepped down from the cart, picked up a basket from where she'd set it on the ground, and placed it beside him.

"There are sandwiches and lemonade, and some chocolate biscuits as well."

"I thank you, dear."

He reached down and touched her cheek.

"Take care, and don't let that Joe Burns anywhere near the farm, do you understand?"

"Oh, believe me, I don't intend to."

"Good." Colin nodded once, firmly, and gently flicked the reins over Philippe's back. "I'll see you in three days."

Elsie stepped back. "See you then, Da."

She watched as the cart got smaller and smaller, not moving her eyes until it disappeared around a corner and she could no longer hear the bouncing of the wheels on the hard-packed lane.

Turning, Elsie made her way back into the cottage. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock before heading into the kitchen.

Halfway there, though, she went back to the door and set the chain lock as well.

 _Better safe than sorry,_ she thought. For while it was not terribly unusual that Joe would pay her father a visit and ask for her hand, her Da's reaction had thrown her. He'd seemed angry, and that was never a feeling Elsie associated with her father.

It would be a long three days, she knew.

 **oOoOoOo**

Colin estimated he was three-fourths of the way to the market when the rain came. He'd hoped to arrive before the worst of it, but the black clouds overhead gave no indication that he'd make it. He'd eaten most of the provisions Elsie had packed, but Philippe needed some food before nightfall, and he was now regretting not having bunked down in the last town when he'd first noticed the darkening clouds.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later, the skies completely opened. Loud claps of thunder and flashes of lightning frightened Philippe, and Colin made to pull over in order to calm the horse.

Just then, a huge _crack_ sounded, followed immediately by a flash of light, and Colin realized the tree up ahead had been split and was now smoldering in the rain.

When the cart tipped, he realized belatedly his error: the wheel was stuck in a muddy rut, and no amount of coaxing Philippe could make the horse pull at the angle needed – and with the strength required – to right the carriage and get back on the road.

"All right, Philippe. Looks like we're abandoning ship." Colin clambered down from the carriage seat and unhitched the horse, calming him with long, steady strokes to his neck and a couple of sugar cubes he'd tucked away in his pocket.

"There's a home over there through the trees," he muttered to the horse, who whinnied a reply. "Lights on. Let's go and see if they can give is a bit of shelter, and we'll come back tomorrow for the cart."

He took an empty sack and packed the most valuable clocks inside of it, a pang in his chest at the thought of all he was leaving behind. But as the rain washed down the road in waves, he knew that he'd be foolish to stay. Taking Philippe's reins, Colin climbed on his back and led him through the trees in the direction of the lights.

The thunder, lightning, and rain were joined by gusty winds, and upon breaking through the copse of trees, Colin gasped loudly as he spied what he'd previously thought was just a "home." The edifice before him was a veritable castle, with towers topped by pennant flags, candles burning in the windows of one wing, and an expansive lawn all around.

A glance around the left side of the building showed a barn, and it was there that Colin steered his four-legged companion. Inside, he found a clean stall.

"You'll be all right in here for now, my friend," Colin said to the horse, soothing him once again and reaching for a bale of hay, which he loosened up a bit before checking the trough.

"There's water, old boy. Settle down, have a drink, and I'll be back as soon as I can," he added, ensuring the stall's gate was securely fastened before making his way to the front door of the house.

 _Castle,_ he said to himself. _It's a castle. How have I never seen this here before?_

He lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall. There was no reply, no one appearing to investigate the arrival of a stranger in a storm, and so he knocked again, waiting several minutes before pushing at the door, surprised at how it gave way beneath his hands.

"Hello?"

Colin's voice echoed in the great hall as he turned to close the door behind himself.

He scanned the area, noting the far wall (upon which two sconces were giving the barest of light), the plush carpet on the floor, and the quality of the scant furnishings. To his right was an enormous portrait, and something about the violet-robed woman in it seemed hauntingly enchanting to him.

He crossed the hall toward what appeared to be the next main room, separated from him once again by a set of heavy, dark wooden doors. His footsteps echoed when his boots hit the stone floor; he circled around the carpet itself, not wanting to track the mud and water dripping from his boots and cloak onto its beautiful, vibrant wool.

A rustling sound came from behind him, but when Colin whipped around to identify its source, there was nothing to be seen.

 _Odd,_ he thought, and the nape of his neck tingled. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

When he reached the doors, however, they were locked, and so he turned and scanned the area for another door … or a bell pull, perhaps, knowing that a place such as this was would certainly have a means for summoning one's servants at any time. He spied one by the front door and headed back that way to give it a go, but halfway there he heard a faint creak, followed by the scurrying of feet.

"I know someone is there," Colin called out softly, turning and, yet again, finding nothing. "I don't mean to intrude, but the weather is awful and I was hoping for shelter for my horse and myself. He's in the barn and I'm happy to sleep there with him, only …"

He stopped speaking, realizing that there was clearly no one there to answer. A closer look at the bell pull made his heart sink; it was covered in cobwebs and clearly hadn't been used in ages.

 _Perhaps I can find the kitchen,_ he thought. _Although given the state of this place, it's not likely they've got food fit for man_ _ **or**_ _beast._

Anna was watching the older man from the cracked-open baize door, and she jumped when she felt a hand on her back.

"How did he get in here, I wonder?" Mr. Bates mused, his breath warm near her temple.

"Door's not locked, is it?" Mr. Barrow whispered, still keeping an eye on the foyer. "No need to do that until _he_ turns in, really. No one ever finds this place anymore."

"Well," Anna said, turning to look at them both, "one of you needs to get that man out of here. Eventually, we won't be the only ones to hear him."

"I can't imagine he'll stay long," Mr. Barrow observed, walking away from them.

"Where're you going?" Mr. Bates asked him.

"To keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't steal anything," he replied with a sneer, and he disappeared down the stairs. "It's not like we can trust Mr. Molesley to do it."

"He's such a liar," Mr. Bates remarked quietly to Anna. "It's time for his smoke is all."

"Too bad our intruder's not a girl," Anna sighed, leaning back into Mr. Bates's chest and smiling when he kissed her hair.

"It's been so many years that I've nearly given up hope," he replied quietly, shaking his head. "And Mr. Carson's worse now, isn't he? I can't imagine _anyone_ fitting the bill and pulling it off nowadays."

"We must always travel in hope, Mr. Bates," Anna whispered, and she silently allowed the door to close.

 **oOoOoOo**

Colin did manage to find his way to the kitchen. It was easier than he'd thought for one simple, strange reason: he could smell food cooking.

Despite the uncanny feeling of being watched, Colin had convinced himself that this great estate upon which he'd stumbled must be uninhabited. But the lovely smells emanating from the kitchen below stairs negated that suspicion wholly.

 _Smells like a mutton stew,_ he thought, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

He peered into what he assumed must be a servants' corridor, and from his vantage point he could see straight through a window and into the kitchen, where he spotted a large pot simmering on the stove … and not a soul in sight.

"I don't mean to frighten you," he called out. "I just was hoping for a bit of food and shelter for myself and m- "

But his voice died in his throat when he heard a clatter come from the corner of the kitchen.

"Shh," he heard someone say, and his eyes caught a swift glimpse of what he thought might be an apron peek through the corner of the window.

"Who's there?" he tried again as he walked into the kitchen. "My name is Colin Hughes. I'm here hoping to speak to whomever is in charge about lodging for the night, if such a thing might be possible."

He tiptoed to where he thought he'd seem someone disappear; poking his head quickly around the jamb of the door, he was startled to find …

… no one.

"How odd," he muttered, turning back to the kitchen.

He didn't see the cook's assistant tucked away in the corner of the store cupboard, trying her level best to blend in with the tan color of the walls and the service counter behind which she crouched.

Daisy waited until the strange man - _Mr. Hughes,_ she reminded herself - had his back to the doorway, and she peered over the counter to watch as he rummaged around the shelves, located a small bowl, and took a ladle full of the stew. She looked on as he added two apples and a carrot to the pockets of his cloak (which looked terribly wet, she thought) and then headed out the kitchen door.

"I was gonna use those," Mrs. Patmore muttered from where she was hiding behind the door.

Daisy stood up straight and dusted off her apron.

"Where d'ye think he came from?" Daisy wondered, eyes open wide.

"Who knows? Seemed friendly enough, but I hope he's headed straight back outside and not anywhere you-know-who will find him."

"And what have we here?"

Charles Carson's voice sounded in the corridor outside the kitchen, and the cook and her assistant watched with a bit of trepidation as he turned the corner and came into the kitchen. He rubbed his hands together and sniffed the air. "Smells like stew," he commented, and Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes.

"Astute observation," she quipped, resuming her place by the butcher's block in the kitchen. "Can't do much else until we can access the home farm stores, and judging from this rain that is not going to be this evening."

"Hmph."

Daisy kept a wide berth between herself and the butler and gathered what remained of the fruit, slicing it and some cheese and placing both on a platter.

"What's this?" Charles grumbled, and both the girl and the cook turned to see what he was referring to. "Where did these come from?"

He was staring so intently at the floor that he didn't notice as Mrs. Patmore blanched. "I've no idea," she whispered, staring at the wet footprints and droplets that carried down the corridor. "P'raps Mr. Barrow went out for a smoke and forgot to wipe his feet when he returned?"

"No. He never forgets," Charles muttered, turning and following the watery marks.

Daisy looked over to the cook and mouthed, _Let's hope he's gotten out._

The furrows on Charles's brow grew deeper and deeper as he followed the offending footprints down the corridor and toward the stairs that would lead up to the great hall. Outside the library door he noticed a bit of a puddle, as if the person he was following had stopped there for a while. A cursory glance inside the library door, however, proved that whoever it was had not actually entered the room.

 _Thankfully,_ he thought with a grunt.

The damp tracks led to the front door, and so Charles did the only sensible thing in his mind: he grabbed an umbrella and headed out into the rain, which had lessened to a gentle fall.

There, upon the dirt and gravel, were what he could now tell were a man's footprints leading to the barn. Curious, and becoming even angrier at the thought of an intruder in the king's home, he quickened his pace until he reached the stables.

He slowed his steps just outside the door, carefully lowering the umbrella once he was under the cover of the nearest set of stalls and leaning it against the wall.

"Who's there?" came a voice from within, and the butler nearly jumped out of his livery.

"I believe _I_ should be asking that!" Charles bellowed back at the voice. He walked in the direction of the man's voice he'd heard, and stopped short at the sight before his eyes in the third stall down.

An older man (older than Charles would've guessed from the voice, anyhow) sat upon the hay in the corner of the stable. Next to him, standing tall but with a nervous look about him, was a beautiful white and grey horse who appeared to be chewing on something. A glance in front of the man showed Charles that some of the stew had made its way to the stable as well, as the nearly-empty bowl sat with a spoon resting on the edge.

The man stood, and Charles backed up a few steps.

"I tried to find-" Colin started, but Charles cut him off immediately.

"What do you think you're about, _stealing_ from this house?" he yelled, his voice deep and threatening.

Colin's face grew slack with fear, and he realized that the man he'd originally deemed as potentially caring would be far from it now. He reached over and brushed a calming hand over Philippe's back, feeling the horse grow restless beside him.

"I … I didn't know …" he stammered. "We were caught in the storm … my cart stuck … on the way to market …"

Charles spied the sack by the wall. He reached down and pulled it open, peering inside.

"Clocks?" he said, curious. It was possibly the last thing he expected, given the slightly disheveled appearance of the man and, he had to admit, his age and slightly trembling nature. "You're selling clocks?"

"I am. Or, at least I _was,_ until I ended up stuck here," Colin grumbled. "Please, I only need to stay until the rain lets up. I can sleep in here with the horse, and …" His voice died in his throat as he saw the tall man's gaze distracted by something that rested in the space Colin had vacated when he'd stood.

Charles's eyes drifted away from the old man as he was speaking, and they settled upon something that unnerved him completely, whisking all thoughts of hospitality and kindness from his mind.

"You've cut ... a _rose_ ... from the garden?" His voice was but a whisper, but it was full of something that Colin identified as _rage._

"I … Well, only the one. It's for my daughter, you see. I always bring her one from my travels, and -"

"Your reasons matter not!" Charles seethed. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Whose roses these are - whose _home_ this is?

"No," Colin admitted, now quite fearful. "But it's only one rose, and -"

Charles threw up his hands in anger. "No! Enough!"

The butler's loud voice and his gesticulating and furious demeanor spooked Philippe, and the terrified horse bolted towards the stable door, tripping on and trampling the sack full of Colin's best clocks in the process.

"Philippe! Come back!" Colin yelled. But it was too late; the horse was gone, his whinnying fear echoing across the property.

Colin turned his eyes back to the angry man before him.

"Now I've no way to return home," Colin despaired. "Except to walk, of course, but it's _miles_ away! And my clocks ..."

"You're not going anywhere," Charles seethed, turning his back on Colin. "Not until you answer for the thieving you've done!"

"A bowl of soup, a nibble for the horse, and a rose?" Colin gasped. "But surely a home like this can afford to spare a bit of charity for a traveler in need?"

Charles paused just inside the door, remembering …

 _He can sit in there for a day or two until he's frightened enough to never return,_ he thought. _Then I'll let him go._

He sighed deeply, taking hold of the umbrella and exiting the stable.

 _Besides, he isn't going to be the one to save us all._

He felt a weight drop heavily in his chest _._

 _That's a dream that will never come true._

Charles dragged the stable door closed and bolted it from the outside, then turned his back on the man trapped within and walked steadily back to the house.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Do let us know what you've thought if you have a moment. x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow! Thanks so much for all the love, folks! We're enjoying reading all the reviews and are thrilled you're so excited for this fic. ("Mad dogs," indeed ... You just wait, Guest Reviewer ...)**

 **Special shout-out to tumblr's dameofdownstairs for our amazing artwork and girl-loves-cake for being our third set of eyes and helper with all things timeline related. (Take that, Disney and JF.)**

 **Hope you enjoy this latest update! xxx**

 **Hogwarts Duo & ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**

* * *

Elsie rarely had trouble sleeping. Normally, she would take a book with her to bed and wake up sometime in the middle of the night with it draped across her stomach. She would mark her place, gently put it on the small bedside table, then turn over and fall into a deep slumber. However, tonight was not one of those occasions. No matter what she did, her mind was simply too full of thoughts, some scattered, some focused, to rest. She looked at the clock on the table and sighed. There was no sense in wasting her waking hours by being idle. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well get a head start on her chores for the day. Tossing aside the blanket, she changed into her day dress, lit the lamps and made her way downstairs. She ate a few bites of cheese and a slice of bread then began scrubbing the kitchen floor.

After focusing on her housework and having been cooped up in the house for much longer than she wished or she felt necessary, Elsie decided to take a break from her cleaning for some much needed fresh air, and a chance to observe the sunrise in all its glory. The ticking of the mantle clock and the otherwise silence of the house were starting to unnerve her as she desperately tried to push aside the worries about her father, the farm, Joe Burns, and even her own prospects for a happy future. If she paused in her cleaning for too long, all of those thoughts collided into one unhappy image in her mind … marrying Joe Burns would solve a lot of problems but create so many more, not to mention what it would do to her Da. And he was the very last person in the world Elsie would ever want to hurt or disappoint. No, there had to be another way out of the problems with the farm, and perhaps she might do some productive brainstorming once outside in the meadow, soaking up the sunshine and the clean, brisk air.

She tossed her cleaning cloth to the side and briefly considered taking a book along, if for no other reason than to distract herself from her own musings. Instead, she opted to simply let those thoughts filter through her mind in the hopes of purging them so she could better focus on more important matters … how to help her father and the farm _without_ the aid of Joe Burns and the meddling of Jos Tufton.

Resting among the wildflowers, Elsie settled back into the tall grass and let her mind wander. She imagined a life very different from her own, one where her mother greeted her with warm hugs each morning, her Da smiled more and worked less, the farm was thriving, and she had friends with whom she could share so many little details of her life. She imagined being invited to a ceilidh where she might be approached by several local unwed men for a dance, though her eyes would be keenly fixed on one in particular.

In all of her daydreams, she could never truly focus on the man's face. It was always just out of her mind's grasp as she tried to conjure a more complete image. He was always tall and very handsome with broad shoulders and dark, wavy hair. A little curl flopped onto his forehead, adding to his boyish charm. She always imagined him with soft, brown eyes and a heart of gold. And, as Elsie rested among the flowers, she imagined this young man asking her to dance. They would hear the music start, and his hand would take hers and he'd lead her to the dance floor.

This time, however, before he could take her in his arms and begin their reel, she was roused from her daydream by the sound of a horse thundering his way across the fields at a rapid pace, neighing and breathing heavily as if his very life was at stake. Elsie sat up immediately and let out a gasp. It was Philippe … but he was all alone.

In an instant, she was on her feet and rushing towards the still-spooked horse. She cried out his name several times before her voice finally reached his ears and he halted, rather abruptly, in front of her, still huffing and panting. Quickly, Elsie scanned her eyes across the fields for her father, hoping he was trailing behind, and ready to give the horse a stern lecture on running away. Unfortunately, she was disappointed with her search, and she felt panic grip her heart.

"Ssssssh, lad, you're home. You're safe," she said soothingly, not sure if she was truly trying to calm the spooked animal or herself. She stroked his mane and snout, gently easing his frayed nerves. "Now, then," she said once she had managed to calm him down, "where's Da?" She led the animal slowly back towards the house and up to the water trough, her eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of her Da as the horse gulped water. Several long, torturous moments passed before Elsie realized something terrible must have happened for the horse to be this upset and her father nowhere in sight. Without much thought, she darted into the house and collected a shawl and a few apples for Philippe, knowing he must be starving after such a long ride.

"Here you are, lad," she said softly, offering the horse the apples. "Eat these and some hay. You must be exhausted and hungry." She made sure to refill the water trough, too, and while he ate, she brushed him and inspected him for injuries, thankfully finding none. She took several moments to remove a few brambles from his mane and tail, all the while speaking softly to him in a soothing voice. When she was done, she rubbed his head and ears as he ate the last apple. "When you've finished and had a little rest, you must take me to Da! You know where he is, and he needs our help," she said, pleading with the horse to understand her meaning.

With a high pitched neigh, he blew a strong breath of air from his nostrils and nodded his head, bumping her hand in the process as if to reassure her that he did comprehend her wishes. After giving him ample time to rest and with one last look at the house, she mounted the trusty steed and gently kicked his side, urging him on with her words and actions, praying he would take her to her beloved father.

After what seemed like an eternity of riding, Elsie began to wonder if Philippe had truly understood her directions. They had been headed towards Ripon, of that she was certain, but now, the horse seemed determined to go in a completely different direction. The new path was scattered with debris and there were large ruts carved into it, as if the road had been washed out from the recent storm. It wasn't until she spotted the remains of the familiar carriage that her heart leapt into her throat. She quickly dismounted the horse and ran over towards the bits of wood and metal that she recognized as the cart her father had been steering when he'd left their cottage the day before.

Her eyes scanned the wreckage, hoping to find some sign of her Da, yet fearing she might find more than a sign. Bits of the various clocks - hands, faces, cogs, wheels, and pendulums - were scattered among the debris … all of them adding to the carnage.

"Da! Where are you? Can you hear me? Are you hurt? Please … answer me!" she cried out, though her pleas were met with only the sounds of birds in the treetops, chattering squirrels, and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Noting that there was nothing to be done about the cart or the remnants of all those clocks, she started to turn back to the horse, intent on continuing her journey. But something stopped her … something wasn't there. "The sack!" she cried out. "Da must be well enough to travel. The sack isn't here!" And for the first time since she'd first seen Philippe, hope began to creep back into her heart. "He must have taken it with him."

With renewed faith in her companion, she mounted him and leaned down to hug his neck. "Take me to Da. I know you can do it!" With a few clicks of her tongue and a slight urging, they were off once again down an unfamiliar path towards and unknown destination.

Before Elsie could settle into the saddle again, her eyes landed upon the glorious house her father had discovered only the day before. She smiled to herself, wondering how she could have missed such an impressive structure set among the rural and rugged landscape. "Forest for the trees, eh, laddie?" she asked the horse. "I'm sure Da will get a good laugh from that one when I tell him. That's where he went, isn't it?" She patted the horse's neck and urged him onward but was surprised when he took a turn for the left instead of heading straight for the front door of the large castle directly in front of them. "No, Philippe! We need to get to Da, not the stables." But the horse was not to be deterred from his course and despite Elsie's protests, he continued towards the stable. When he stopped and refused to budge another hoof forward, Elsie gave a loud huff and dismounted. She would simply have to walk the rest of the way to the house.

She was tying up the reins to a post outside when she heard a booming voice coming from inside the stable. Not wishing to impose, but realizing she needed to explain the sudden presence of an unfamiliar horse near the stables, Elsie eased open the door in the hopes of explaining everything and asking after her Da.

"I half expected to come here and find you gone," the loud voice sounded through the stables, unsettling a few birds nesting in the rafters. "I suppose you do have a small sense of morals about you, even though you are a trespasser and a thief!"

"I, sir, am no thief! A rose … that was all … and a few bites of food for my horse and myself … that was hardly worth a frigid night in this stable. Had you let me explain …"

"I don't need to hear your lies or tales of woe. You took things which did not belong to you. You entered a home without the permission of the owners. You presumed far too much, in my estimation, and only now when you are caught do you seem repentant."

"In my defense," Colin stated firmly, "I did try to locate someone inside the house before finding my way to the kitchens. I called out, but no one answered, yourself included! It seemed peculiar to me that a house as magnificent as that should be uninhabited, but you'll notice I took nothing from the glorious furnishings aside from the bowl of stew and the apples and carrots for my horse. If you'll only allow me to return to my home … or even continue my journey to Ripon, I might be able to sell the remaining clocks that I have and repay you and the house for your hospitality."

Carson stood straighter and raised his impressive eyebrows in absolute shock. "Allow you to leave and trust you to repay us? And how do you propose such a thing? The clocks you carry in that sack … do you think they're worth the price of a single Crawley rose, nurtured and cultivated by the Queen Mother herself? They're prized roses, winners of awards and the envy of gardeners far and wide." He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, but releasing the breath slowly as he remembered the faithful night when the curse was thrust upon him … a Crawley rose sealing his own fate. Satisfied that he had well and truly ensured that the trespasser would never return to the estate, he opened his mouth to speak but was halted by the voice of yet another stranger.

"Hello … my name is Elsie and I'm looking for …" She suddenly stopped and gasped as Charles turned on his heels and stared down into her face, his body entirely blocking that of her father.

"Elsie? Oh goodness, lass," Colin cried as he rushed towards his only child and enveloped her into his arms. "Whatever are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. You should have trusted me to return home to you," he said softly, brushing her hair back from her face and the tears from her eyes.

"I couldn't! When Philippe returned without you, dazed with fear and nearly at the point of collapsing, I knew something was wrong. I had to find you!" She pulled back from her father's embrace to face the large man standing beside them, his eyes wide in disbelief and his brows knitted together in frustration and anger.

"I apologize, sir, for my intrusion. This is my father, and I've been so worried about him. The horse returned without him and …"

Carson held up his hands to silence the woman standing before him, her hair falling about her face, framing it prettily, her cheeks flushed no doubt from relief and the hard travels. "I know all about your father's fate and his misdeeds. I kept him here, not out of any sort of kindness, but to teach him a lesson. You see," he said, walking passed Colin and Elsie to where the simple rose lay on a bale of hay, "he plucked this from the gardens, a gift he said, for his daughter. I believe he stole this for you," he said, handing Elsie the rose which was at the center of the matter.

With a trembling hand, Elsie reached out to take the rose from him. Her fingertips barely touched his as she started to grasp the stem, and an unfamiliar sensation coursed through her as if a mighty wind had rushed through the stables without moving a single strand of hair or hay. And in an instant, just as soon as the feelings had rushed through her, they were gone again, in a blink of an eye. Charles pulled back but kept a firm grasp on the rose, not allowing Elsie to take it from him, and he returned it to the corner of the stable among Colin's other possessions.

"For this, you kept my father a prisoner here? A rose? I'm sure had you had the decency to answer his pleas for help, he would have offered you payment for your hospitality. Regardless of your reasons for keeping him here against his will, we will find some way to repay you for whatever the rose is worth and any inconveniences."

"Elsie, please, do not try to reason with him. He is correct. I did clip the rose without asking permission, though having seen no one else in the house or the surrounding area, I wouldn't have known who to ask in the first place. And yes, I did take food for myself and Philippe … again without asking, though there seemed to be no one around."

"There you have it, sir. My father would have happily sought permission for all of his so called … misdeeds," she said, the word passing her lips with disdain and a fire in her tone. "but you and your staff left him no choice. Or would you rather have let him suffer cruelly in the storm, shivering in a copse of trees with no food, water, shelter, or even a horse to keep him company? Surely, a man living in such a grand house as that one," she said, pointing in the direction of the large, stately home she had seen from a distance, "would have a more compassionate heart, even for a complete stranger."

Her words wounded Charles Carson, his mind instantly replaying the events of the night he was cursed, the words hurled at him by the Queen Mother, and all of the lonely days which had followed. "I do not owe you or your father anything," he stated sternly. "Before we were so rudely interrupted, I had planned to release your father with the understanding that he never return to this house or these grounds again. However, it might be wiser to keep him here for a little longer. There are things he could do here at the house or stables to make amends for his actions. After all, you both seem rather keen on setting things right."

Colin stepped between Elsie and Charles. "I offered to take my clocks into the village to sell them in order to repay you for the food and flower. If you'd only allow us the opportunity to make good on that promise, you won't regret it, sir."

Charles studied Colin's face, searching his eyes, the worry lines surrounding them, the truth hidden in their depths. In his heart, Charles knew that Colin was a good man, an honest man, one who could and would easily admit his mistakes, even in front of his daughter. That took real courage, the heart of a lion. He was certain that if he allowed the clockmaker and his daughter to leave, they would one day return, not out of spite or vengeance, but to make good on the payment for goods and services.

And then, Charles turned his gaze to Elsie. Wisps of hair curling about her pink cheeks, a slim waist hidden beneath a dress a little too loose, delicate hands which showed few signs of age but a touch of hard work, blue eyes the color of a summer's day, and a strong personality which he found highly infuriating yet oddly intriguing, all rolled into the woman standing before him. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and he was reminded of that fleeting moment when he had offered her the rose. She was the only woman who had set foot on the estate in years, though he had no doubts that she was not the one to break the spell. Still, there was something about her, a challenging force to be reckoned with, and that piqued his curiosity.

"Very well, Mr. Hughes. I have a proposition for you. You may take your clocks and leave this very hour. But the household is in need of a housekeeper. Standards have slipped these past few years and the maids could use a guiding force. I propose that your daughter remain behind, as a sort of promise, if you will, that you will do all you can to earn the money to repay the estate. In return, she will be given the job of housekeeper. She will have the opportunity to work off your debt and to assist me in restoring the house to its former glory. And if, by some chance, she manages to repay the estate before you raise the money, she will be given a salary, should she choose to continue to work for Downton Abbey. The money would be hers to do with as she pleases, even if she chooses to send it home to you for your farm and clock-making."

Charles rocked back and forth from heels to toes, his hands clasped firmly behind his back and he watched an unspoken dialogue take place between the man and his beloved daughter. "I will give you a few minutes to decide," he said, stepping away to give them a moment of peace and privacy.

When he was clearly out of earshot, Colin grasped Elsie's upper arms, drawing her closer to him. "I cannot and will not allow you to do that, Elsie. He's no better than Joe Burns, trying to force you into something you don't want. I am the one who made the mistake. I should be the one to pay."

Elsie shook her head in defiance even before her father completed his sentence. "It's not the same at all, Da. He's offering me a job! I can work hard to repay whatever amount he believes that blessed rose is worth, and then I can use the extra money to help us save the farm. I wouldn't be forced to marry him, or anyone, so he's not like Joe at all. He's offering a fair solution to an unfair situation. I don't believe a bowl of stew and a single rose is worth all of the fuss, but apparently it means something more to him than we realize. It's not an ideal situation, but the alternative is watching you struggle to make ends meet to pay the tax collector, trying to keep the farm going, and restoring the clocks and all in an attempt to make a few pounds. Please, Da, try to understand. It won't be for long. I'm sure of that."

"Elsie, lass, what sort of father would I be if I let you take my place, work off my debts, and abandoned you to a complete stranger in an even stranger house? Your mother, God rest her soul, would never forgive me."

"And she would never forgive me for allowing you to work yourself into an early grave over a plot of land and a rose. My mind is made up." She kissed her father's cheek and hugged him tightly before pushing him away.

"Sir," she said, looking back towards the imposing figure of the man standing by the stable doors, "I will accept your offer for employment under the terms you specified earlier."

Charles tilted his head back, a sense of pride at having won the battle filling his chest. He walked purposefully back to the father and daughter, noting the tears streaming down the cheeks of both persons. "Very well, Miss Hughes. Once we return to the house, we will sit down and agree upon a fair price for the Crawley rose, your wages, and duties. You will start work first thing in the morning." Carson took an additional step towards Colin and with a nod of his head, he directed his attention towards the sack in the corner and the rose. "Best collect your things and be on your way. Your horse should be rested enough to begin his journey home."

With heavy steps, Colin walked over to the corner of the stable and retrieved both items, returning to Elsie's side once more. "Don't make me leave you, lass. Surely, there's another way," he pleaded as tears streamed down his cheeks, his heart breaking in half.

"You know there's not, Da. I'll be fine," she reassured him, even though she felt much less confident than she pretended to be. "We'll be separated only for a little while, you'll see."

Charles took that moment to intervene, grasping Colin's elbow and drawing him towards the door. Colin thrust the rose into his daughter's hand as a great sob racked his body. "I am so sorry, Elsie, lass, so very sorry. I'll find a way out of this mess. I swear it. It's my solemn oath," he cried as he was ushered out of the stable doors and towards his horse.

Elsie waited with baited breath, listening to the sounds outside of the stable, listening as Philippe's hooves began slowly moving away from the door until she couldn't hear them any longer. Suddenly, the weight of the world seemed to rest upon her shoulders, pushing her down until her knees collided with the ground, waves upon waves of fresh tears pouring from her eyes, the flower clutched tightly to her chest.

Charles stood in the doorway and watched the outpouring of grief. He could faintly remember having such strong emotions, feeling such an intense love for someone, though that had been decades ago. It was an even greater feat to remember the love he felt for his mother and father, long before his years in service, longer than Lady Mary Crawley had walked the earth, longer than he had been cursed. With a small amount of sympathy towards the grieving woman, he took a few tentative steps towards her. "I will leave you to compose yourself, but I trust you to uphold your end of our agreement. I will expect you in my pantry in a half hour to discuss the terms of your employment. There is a servant's entrance at the back of the house. Please use that door when entering the castle. One of the staff will direct you to my office." Quietly, Carson exited the stable, leaving Elsie on her hands and knees.

A few moments passed before Elsie managed to compose herself and rein in her emotions. It had taken immense courage to agree to the proposal, but she'd seen no other way out of the situation. Still, she had never dreamed that her life would take such a drastic turn when she woke that morning, or that she may never see her Da or their beautiful farm again. As she stood up and brushed the hay and dirt from her dress, she walked over to the bale of hay in the far corner of the stall, sitting down abruptly to give herself some time to compose her thoughts. But there, gently cradled by the soft mound of hay, lay the most beautiful clock in the world, a gentle reminder of her Da, the love she had for him, and the sacrifices she was willing to make. Tenderly, she reached down and picked it up, hugging it to her chest. She would keep it with her always, until that time when she could return it to him in person. It would serve as a stark reminder of why she was now the Housekeeper of Downton Abbey and how her life was now altered forever.

* * *

 **Please let us know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for your amazing reviews! And a special shout-out to the guests to whom we cannot reply in person. If you're on tumblr, make sure to check out dameofdownstairs's amazing cover art for our fic!**

 **xx,**

 **Hogwarts Duo & ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**

* * *

Elsie rolled over and tucked herself underneath the soft sheet, allowing the cotton to brush against her face. Something about it felt different … softer, somehow … but it took a few moments to fully register in her mind just what that difference was.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up too quickly, becoming dizzy and placing her hand firmly on the coverlet to steady herself. After a few seconds, she remembered having collapsed onto the strange bed in a rather frustrated and exhausted heap, and she realized she must have actually fallen asleep.

The meeting with Mr. Carson had taken barely half an hour, but precious little time of that had been spent in cordial discussion. Elsie knew she had a fiery spirit, her Mam's lively temperament as opposed to her Da's usually cool demeanor, yet she'd learned to control that over the years as she'd matured. But just in the short time she'd known him, Mr. Carson had raised her ire like few others she'd ever met, and soon their conversation had turned from business-like talk of responsibilities to shouting about his unfairness and unkindness and her unwillingness to take directions.

 _More like unwillingness to acquiesce to demands,_ she thought with a huff.

But despite the anger contained within their conversation, there had been a spark of something else as well, and it was only that spark that had kept Elsie true to her promise. She'd noticed something in the stately butler that transcended his poor behavior, although only just. She'd be hard-pressed if asked to put a name to it, but it seemed to be a mixture of pride and honor. His love for the estate itself had been clear, and his devotion to the family that usually resided there evident in his desire to "reclaim and maintain proper standards" for their eventual return.

It was only when Elsie had asked where she was meant to sleep that he'd realized they'd been arguing, and he'd reluctantly pointed up the stairs.

"Third door on the left," he'd grumbled. "You may move about the house as you like, particularly given the nature of your work here, but do stay out of the servants' quarters over the West Wing."

It was now, in the stillness of the unfamiliar bed chamber, that Elsie remembered the jolt she'd received when she'd touched the butler in the stable. It had well and truly shocked her, and her heart and head started to race once more.

"Calm down, you foolish lass," she whispered to herself, and she forced herself to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

When things finally stopped spinning, Elsie opened her eyes again and took some time to examine the room - _her_ room now, she supposed.

The wardrobe that took up half the wall opposite the bed was the first thing she focused on. It appeared almost antique, and it was certainly something the likes of which Elsie had never owned in all her life. _Elegant_ was the word she thought of first, and she allowed her eyes to move over the ornate scrollwork and paint before she looked away and found a matching bureau, and a vanity and chair on the other windowless wall.

She stretched and groaned.

 _That butler can be downright beastly,_ she thought with a grimace and a shudder. _But Da is safe. A bit of hard work here and I should be free to go._

 _Eventually._

To be sure, Elsie hadn't been quite sure what she'd signed on for initially; she just wanted to be sure her Da would be able to go home. It had occurred to her belatedly that this may even be a blessing in disguise, as she was most certain that Joe Burns and his followers wouldn't ever be able to find her _here,_ let alone be allowed inside if they did. The thought brought a small smile to her face, and Elsie relaxed, only to jump sharply at the sound of a gentle rap on her door.

"Come in," she said meekly, and the door opened slowly to reveal a tall, thin, raven-haired woman whom Elsie judged to be a few years younger than she herself was.

"Hello," the woman said quietly, and she entered and closed the door behind herself before turning back to Elsie. "Mr. Carson let it slip that we had a guest. I thought I might be of some assistance?"

"He 'let it slip,' did he?" Elsie asked with a smirk. She'd heard very clearly how he'd let that slip earlier - very loudly, and repeatedly, along with words like _Don't go out of your way to be kind_.

The woman had the courtesy to look embarrassed. "I'm Phyllis," she offered. "I was … I mean, I _am_ a lady's maid. I came to see if we could alter a few of the items in the wardrobe for you. Assuming you're staying, of course, which I gather you are." She glanced around the room. "And as it doesn't appear you have any bags …"

As she spoke, she crossed the room briskly, and Elsie just watched from her seated position in the bed, unsure of what was happening.

"I - I'm sorry? I mean, those things … those things aren't mine," Elsie stammered. It was so unlike her to be taken aback, and she was feeling a bit off-kilter by it. "I can't wear them."

She saw as Phyllis sighed gently. "Well, no one is wearing them anymore, so you may as well."

Just then, another knock sounded, and Elsie watched as a stout, red-haired woman and a young girl entered the bedroom, the girl carrying a tea tray while the woman fussed about.

"You'll be wanting some tea, dear," the woman said, and she pointed for the girl to set the tray on the bureau before picking up the cup.

"Milk? Sugar?" the redhead asked.

"Erm, milk please," Elsie whispered, and before she could mention it, she smiled as the woman added the milk first and _then_ the tea. "Thank you," she added.

"I'm Mrs. Patmore, the cook," the redhead said. "This is Daisy, my … assistant."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Elsie smiled, and she noted that Daisy flushed with embarrassment.

"Well," Mrs. Patmore said, rubbing her hands together briskly and glancing at Phyllis. "We'll let you get on. Dinner's at six." And, with that, the cook and her assistant left.

"How odd," Elsie murmured, but when she sipped at the tea, the warmth of it soothed her a bit.

Phyllis only nodded and turned to the wardrobe once again. She pulled out a few dresses - all much too elaborate for Elsie's tastes. These weren't just dresses, Elsie realized; they were _gowns._

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Elsie insisted. "Surely there must be staff livery and other such things below stairs? If I'm to be working here …"

Phyllis turned sharply. _"Working_ here?"

Elsie nodded slowly, now convinced that this Mr. Carson clearly had been blustering too much earlier and giving far too few actual facts.

"I'm to be working here as housekeeper," she said carefully. "Until … Well, until Mr. Carson deems otherwise, I suppose."

Phyllis's eyebrows raised. "Really? Well, this place sure could use one. Ever since Mrs. Bute left, it's been rather an unsteady ship, even with no one really living here anymore."

"Mrs. Bute?"

"The former housekeeper. She left to take care of her ailing mother, but we never saw her again," Phyllis supplied. "Since then, Anna and I have tried, but … well, you know how it is with male staff." She shrugged.

Elsie pursed her lips. She most certainly did know what men could be like, although for as rude as he'd been to her previously, she had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Carson didn't put up with those types of things from his footmen and valets.

She put her feet on the floor and got off the bed. "Well, perhaps together we can see what there is that might be suitable for a housekeeper. Shall we?"

She opened the door, and Phyllis had no choice but to follow.

"Thank you for coming to find me, Miss …" Elsie began, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Baxter," Phyllis said shyly.

"Miss Baxter," she nodded, smiling.

"And you're Mrs …?"

Elsie laughed. "Oh, I'm not married," she said with a smile.

"But housekeepers are always 'missus' something or other," Miss Baxter explained. "Mr. Carson is a stickler for tradition."

"Well, in that case, I'd be Mrs. Hughes, I suppose," Elsie replied softly.

"Very well, Mrs. Hughes. Let's go have a look then."

 **oOoOoOo**

Phyllis brought Elsie to the former housekeeper's room, where they managed to find three dresses that would work for everyday wear. While she didn't anticipate actually needing it, Elsie also pulled out a fourth that was a bit more formal, with an embroidered panel on the chest and a cut suitable for an evening dress should one actually be required.

"I can take this one in for you," Phyllis commented as she held up a dress that was navy in color with a pinstripe pattern. "It'll be too big about the waist." She glanced at the other two hanging up and added, "Perhaps the other navy as well, but the black with the floral pattern should work all right for now."

"Thank you for doing this," Elsie said softly. "I wish I had some way to repay you."

"No thanks are needed," Phyllis replied. "It'll give me something to do, and you look as though you could use a friend."

Elsie nodded distractedly, and Phyllis saw how her eyes were roaming the walls, taking everything in.

"I suppose I should have been placed in here," she mused. "I wonder why he didn't."

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't question him."

"I suppose not." Elsie suddenly remembered something. "Is there a library here, by chance? I didn't even see one book in the bedroom."

"I'm not sure if -" Phyllis began, but the sound of footsteps in the corridor stopped her short, and she quickly gathered the dresses in her arms. "Hello, Mr. Carson."

Charles came through the doorway, a glare on his face.

"Dinner is at six," he said harshly. "You're expected."

He turned his back and stalked out of the room again, leaving Elsie standing there, mouth agape.

"He's never in the women's corridor," Phyllis murmured. "That's a surprise."

But Elsie didn't even hear her. "I'm expected," she uttered after a moment. "I'm _expected!"_

"We all eat together," Phyllis supplied. "Well, except for Mrs. Patmore and Daisy."

"Whyever don't they eat with you?"

"It's just not how it's always been done," Phyllis said. "They take their meals in the kitchen after bringing out the dishes and such for us."

"How odd." Elsie's brow was furrowed. "And you take all meals together?"

"Oh, yes," Phyllis nodded. "In the servants' hall. And Mr. Carson is always punctual."

"He's always there?"

"Well, for breakfast and dinner, yes. So it wouldn't do to be late."

Elsie peered around the door and watched the butler disappear into one of the sitting rooms.

"No," she murmured. "I'm sure it wouldn't. Which is unfortunate."

"How's that?"

Elsie turned back to Phyllis, her expression set.

"Because with that attitude of complete rudeness that he just exhibited, I've no intention of sitting at the same table as that man."

Phyllis opened her mouth to reply but promptly closed it again after reconsidering. She gave Elsie a sympathetic nod and left with two of the dresses, excited to have a project to work on for the next couple of days.

Elsie gathered up the remaining dresses and brought them back to her room. She hung them in the wardrobe and closed the door softly before crossing over to the small window, which she opened a little bit in order to let in some fresh air.

She reached into her deep apron pocket and withdrew the small clock she'd found in the hay.

"Oh, Da," she whispered tearfully, looking at the delicate craftsmanship of the timepiece. "I miss you already."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Chelsiesouloftheabbey and I sincerely appreciate your love, support, and reviews for the story. To our guest reviewers … a special shout out since we can't reply to your messages personally. And now … on to the next chapter of our fairy tale – Downton style.

 **Chapter 7**

The journey back to the quiet little village where Colin and Elsie lived was dreadful and long. Philippe's steps were slow and measured, as if he was giving his owner ample time to have a change of heart, to make a hasty retreat towards the stables of the estate and to rescue Elsie. But with each new step, each new bend in the road or hill climbed, Philippe soon realized that they would not be returning for Elsie, at least not yet. Hanging his head low, he continued slowly onward down the familiar path.

Despite the steady stream of tears that fell from his eyes, Colin's mind was a whirlwind. Images of his beloved daughter clutching the rose to her chest, her dark hair, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and the determined set of her shoulders filled his mind. There was little reasoning to be done with his Scottish lass once she set her mind to something, and in this matter she had been no different. He still couldn't believe how quickly everything had changed. One day, he had set out to the market to sell his clocks in the hopes of saving the farm and the next he had lost his daughter to a complete stranger living in an odd sort of stately home, fewer clocks to sell, and no hope of raising the money needed to repay the intimidating man and secure Elsie's release.

Pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, Colin wiped furiously at his eyes, clearing them so he could see the road ahead. Now was not the time to settle into self-pity or despair. He needed to focus on Elsie and find a way to rescue her from that beastly man and that horrid house. Paying close attention to the road ahead, making mental notes of landmarks along the way, he spurred Philippe homeward, hoping for inspiration or a solution to the mess in which he now found himself.

But, the more Colin thought of Elsie, the more his thoughts turned to the farm, his debts, and eventually Joe Burns. It wouldn't take long for word to spread throughout the village of Elsie's disappearance, and questions would be asked. No doubt, Joe Burns and Jos Tufton would be among the first to raise suspicions and gossip among the other villagers. And, if Colin didn't give them answers, he could only imagine the tales that would be spun at the expense of Elsie's good reputation. His heart ached at the thoughts of her name being besmirched, the whispers that would surround her once she returned.

With those thoughts in mind, Colin made a bold decision. Elsie would no doubt be furious with him once she discovered his plans, but he was her father and she would eventually come to respect, or at least accept, his decision. He would reach out to Joe Burns and the other villagers for help. His daughter was admired in the village, and perhaps if they knew she was in danger, they might rally to help him rescue her. There was no way he could do it all on his own given the sheer size and strength of the man who had somehow convinced her to give up her life for a job in service. But with enough manpower, and enough force, they could whisk Elsie away from Downton and the imposing, gruff man he'd met in the stables.

As they reached the fork in the road, one direction leading to the farm and the other leading to the village, Colin redirected Philippe's steps. It was early evening, and if he was lucky, he could catch most of the men in the village down at the pub and before they were too deep into their cups. He would explain everything to the men … well, almost everything. No need for the entire village to know of his financial woes or that Elsie was working to pay off the price of a single rose. He would tell them only the bare facts and appeal to their sense of duty to one of their own, a beloved daughter of the village. After all, if it could happen to his headstrong Elsie, then it could happen to any of the others in the small community, too.

The tavern was not a place Colin frequented. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd visited this particular establishment, and even those occasions had been at the behest of someone else, a neighbor celebrating a birth or a bountiful crop. Even before he and Elsie had moved to the village, Colin had rarely visited these sorts of businesses, choosing to spend his evenings at home with his wife and newborn baby girl. Upon the death of his beloved, he spent every evening at home, being the doting father to his adorable lass. But now, the rustic pub held the only hope he had left of rescuing his only child, the light of his life. After securing Philippe's reins to the post outside, he took a deep breath and walked through the doors, a silent prayer on his lips that the men inside would be understanding and helpful.

The noise outside the tavern was nothing compared to the raucous din from the patrons inside. Men who had already had too much to drink, even at this early evening hour, were singing at the top of their lungs, as if in a contest to best the other. A game of darts was exceedingly animated, and from the look of the wall beside the dart board, the players were missing more than hitting their target. Other patrons were nursing their ales while betting on what they hoped would be a winning hand of cards. There were even a few ladies at the bar, flirting shamelessly with the men and giggling much too loudly to be sincere. Colin shook his head, wishing he could avoid this place but knowing his only hope of assistance resided with these people.

And then, sitting in the far corner of the pub near the large fireplace, was Joe, with Jos hovering nearby. Burns seemed to be regaling those surrounding him, including two very blonde and buxom ladies, with a story about stalking a stag through the woods, making sure to reenact the scene for the benefit of the his female companions. And just as he reached the part of his story where he released the arrow that killed the stag, he leapt from his chair towards them, sending them into squeals, laughter, and swooning, drawing the attention of the entire room in their direction.

As Joe looked around the room to ensure that he had everyone's interests piqued, his eyes landed on Colin standing awkwardly in the doorway. Intrigued by the man's sudden appearance at the tavern, Joe stood and proudly walked over to the man he was convince would one day be his father-in-law.

"Well, well! What brings you in here this fine evening, Mr. Hughes?" Joe clapped the older man on the back and steered him towards the bar. "Your finest pint for my friend … and I'll have another myself," he ordered, none too politely. Without waiting for payment, the bartender began filling two large glasses with beer.

"No, thank you, Mr. Burns. But I do need to speak with you. It's of the utmost importance and there's not a minute to lose." The urgency in Colin's voice was lost on Joe, who continued to puff out his chest as if he was the man of the hour at a grand celebration held in his honor.

"Nonsense! There's nothing more important than being seen with me, sharing a pint, and laughing like old friends, especially after the way you spoke to me the other day. I should still be very cross with you, but I'm sure you've had time to think over my proposal … my very generous proposal," he said, turning and giving Jos a nod.

Without further encouragement, the round little man quickly joined Colin and Joe at the bar, hoping he would be offered a pint, too. "Congratulations, Joe! Everyone knows you're the best in the village, and you deserve the best. No one in town's more admired than you, and you're everyone's favorite man! Everyone here would love to be you, even on your worst days," he said with a toothy grin.

"I'm not here to offer Elsie in marriage, Joe. I'm here to ask for your help in rescuing her. She's …"

"And here I thought that was what I was offering to do already. I made a fair proposition to you. I'd marry her, take your farm, and you'd live comfortably for the rest of your days. You know, half the women in this town would jump at the chance to be my wife … or my mistress, eh, Jos?"

Colin had listened long enough to this egotistical, boorish man. Every minute spent in his presence was precious time wasted in rescuing Elsie. "Listen to me! Elsie has been kidnapped. Well, not exactly kidnapped, per se, but she's being forced to stay at a castle."

Joe nearly choked on his beer as he laughed at the absurd suggestion the old man was making. "You can't be serious, old man. A castle? Near here? And Elsie, your headstrong girl with fire in her soul … kidnapped? More likely she's run away from you and your burdens," he scoffed. "I'm the best hunter around, and I know these woods and lands better than even most of the landowners. There is no castle in these parts, Colin Hughes! Are you sure you haven't been into your own homemade brew," he laughed loudly, encouraging others to join in the merriment.

"I've seen it, Joe! I walked through the massive front doors, along the corridors, and I even met the beast of a man that lives there! I'm telling you, he's holding Elsie there, and we have to rescue her. She could be in grave danger," he said, his eyes now wild with excitement and desperation. Colin looked around at the gathering crowd, hoping someone in the group would believe him and offer assistance.

"You're a fool, Colin Hughes." Jos Tufton spat the words then laughed, punching Joe in the arm and encouraging others to laugh along with him. "If there was any sort of large estate around these parts, don't you think Joe would know about it? He'd have been a guest or at least inquired after one of their rich daughters, eh Joe?" The men gathered around all began murmuring and nodding their heads. It was true that Joe knew the area better than most, and he certainly knew more about the ladies in this village and the closest three towns to them as well.

"Colin, perhaps you should go home and get some sleep," a kindly old man offered. "You look as if you haven't slept well in weeks. Didn't I see you leaving with the cart filled with clocks for the Ripon market?"

"NO! I never made it to Ripon. There was an accident, you see, and several of the clocks were destroyed. Elsie came looking for me, and that's when he took her! You have to believe me, please. You are my only hope of rescuing her."

"The old man is delusional! I'm sure Elsie is at home, tending to the little cottage and warming his supper while he's here spouting his nonsense," Joe declared with an air of authority. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd been hitting the whisky while the rest of us are here drinking this watered down beer," he teased. "Why, I once tried a brew made by a friend of mine, and I would have sworn I was the size of a barge and could eat five dozen eggs in one sitting. I even made his little wife cook them so I could prove him wrong when he doubted me."

"Yes, and you promptly threw up all over her freshly cleaned rug, too." Jos doubled over laughing at the memory of that night and the look on Joe's face the next morning when he was offered a plate of scrambled eggs. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you eat scrambled eggs since," he said, his breaths coming in short spurts as he laughed heartily at his own joke.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Joe's loud voice caused a hush to fall over the entire tavern, ever eye trained on the burly man who was currently in no mood for teasing. "Colin Hughes, you're a mad, old fool. If Elsie has run away, I'm sure it's because of you and the state of your affairs. I've offered to help you, but I'll not be made to look like a simpleton, traipsing around the woods and nearby villages looking for a large expanse of cleared land that doesn't exist, a beast of a man holding her captive, and a castle that none of us has ever seen!"

Colin looked up at Joe, partly in fear and partly in disbelief. "I knew it was foolish to ask you for help! You claimed to love my Elsie, enough to want to marry her. But I was right. You _don't_ love her, or you'd agree to help me. All you ever wanted was my land and a little woman to tend to your rustic hovel. You just wait and see! I'll find a way to rescue my daughter, without your help, and when she returns to the village and tells everyone about the grand estate and the people she's met there, it's YOU who will look the fool … all of you," he said, turning to look each man in the face.

Colin strode purposefully towards the door but turned and looked back at the speechless men, some still holding their half empty glasses. "Some of you have young children, children that Elsie has helped. She's helped your wives, too, and always had a kind word for everyone in this village. And this is how she's repaid for that kindness … by being mocked, disregarded, and left alone when she needs your help the most. Well, I truly hope, for your own sakes, that your wives and children remain safe, and you never need help from your fellow man."

With those harsh words hanging in the air, Colin walked back to Philippe with a heavy heart. "Come on, old boy. Back to the farm with us," he said softly, patting the horse's nose. "Dinner and then a good brushing are in order for you, I think. Then, somehow and some way, I'll come up with a plan to rescue our darling girl. It kills me to think what might be happening to her," he said softly, leading the horse down the lane towards their modest cottage. Tears sprang to his eyes once more as he imagined what it would be like returning home with no fire, no stew bubbling in the pot, and no bright-eyed lass greeting him at the door.

Looking up at the night sky, he sent up a silent prayer for Elsie's safety and one for the burly man at the castle who had the power to set her free. His prayer was a simple one:

 _Dear Lord, keep my darling lass safe from harm. Let her be well treated and warm in her new surroundings. And please, let the man from the stable have a good heart underneath that tough exterior. If there's any good in him, I beg you to let him show kindness and mercy to my Elsie. Amen._

With his trusty horse fed, watered, and brushed, Colin slowly made his way into the cottage and lit a single candle. His stomach grumbled, but he paid it little mind. A slice of bread and a wedge of cheese would hold him over until the morning. What he needed most was some sleep. In the morning, he would tend to his chores and think of a way to save Elsie from the butler of Downton Abbey.

 **A/N2:** And this, our friends, is where we leave our story for now. We'd love to hear what you think so please, leave us a review if you're so inclined. Thanks! xoxo


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Elsie wiped her tears and set the clock on the nightstand. She'd been in and out of the room three times over the course of the afternoon, still unsure yet of what, exactly, she would end up _doing_ over the days she'd be spending here. Some conversation with Phyllis and Anna had filled in some of the blanks, but Mr. Carson had stipulated that she begin her proper duties first thing in the morning.

It had meant time alone with her thoughts, and while Elsie was not usually prone to crumbling and tears, her emotions were getting the best of her.

"You'll be safe there," she murmured, her fingers brushing the clock's face before she withdrew them.

A rumbling came in reply, reminding Elsie that except for the tea, she'd not consumed anything since breakfast on the farm.

"Dinner," she sighed, and her stomach growled once again. "I suppose I should ..."

Rising from the bed, Elsie glanced down at her clothes and realized that she really did need to wash and change if she planned to leave the room again. She made her way to the wardrobe, pulled open the door, and removed the dresses she'd hung in there previously.

"I think the black," she muttered.

Another glance inside showed an array of frocks in various colors, as well as a parasol tucked into the corner. That item alone made Elsie laugh, reminding her that this was certainly no servant's bedroom.

"I wonder who you were," she whispered, trailing her fingertips over a peach taffeta skirt.

The knock at the door startled her, and she closed the wardrobe quickly.

"Come in," she called.

"I just wondered if you needed anything," came Phyllis's voice.

"A hot bath, a bit of help with choosing appropriate attire, and a good meal."

"Right then, let's get you started," Phyllis replied with a smile.

Elsie examined her appearance in the mirror once she was out of the bath. She'd chosen the black dress with the gold threading on the front, and Phyllis had shown her the hidden hook-and-eye closure and given her some tips on getting in and out of it by herself.

"Your corset does need a bit of adjusting," Phyllis mused, examining the dress, and Elsie nodded.

"I assumed so. I don't wear it very tight on the farm."

"And there's no need to be uncomfortable here. I'd be happy to help, if you'd like …"

Elsie was thankful for Phyllis's kind, unassuming way, and had gratefully accepted her assistance. Now, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, she wished she'd asked the woman's opinion about what to do with her hair as well. Normally, on the farm, she just pulled it back from her face enough that it wouldn't be in the way. But after having seen Phyllis, Anna, and even young Daisy, she knew that wouldn't be appropriate.

The clock chimed out, startling her, and Elsie realized she was going to be late for dinner. She was never late to anything, and she was embarrassed by the thought of it happening now, _here,_ on her first night.

Still, weighing the thought of appearing on time at table with Mr. Carson with her hair hanging down as opposed to arriving late but well-presented, she opted for the latter. With a sigh, she sat at the vanity and began dividing and twisting her thick tresses.

Ten minutes later she was perspiring, muttering, and tossing hairpins across the vanity.

"That's it. I'm not going to dinner at all like this. He'll just have to make do without me."

She had her door halfway open, hoping to catch Phyllis waiting nearby, when she heard the butler's bellow.

"Where _is_ she?"

Elsie cringed as she heard someone - _Mr. Bates,_ she thought, judging by the calm demeanor - trying to reason with him.

"I'm sure she'll be here momentarily, Mr. Carson."

"She will need to learn to be _on time!"_

Elsie slammed the door shut, pulled her last hair pin out, and tossed it angrily across the room before furiously unbuttoning the new dress and changing back into her dress from the farm.

This time, she didn't call a friendly _Come in_ when the knock came … which was a good thing in her half-undressed state, as it wasn't Phyllis at the door.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

Elsie's eyes flew open. "Thomas?"

"Yes," came the voice from the other side of the door. "I'm wondering … well, that is, Mr. Carson was wondering …"

"No. I'm not coming down. You can tell him thank you, but I'm … not feeling well."

Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, decidedly not wanting to be the bearer of that particular news.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"All right. I'll let him know."

Elsie listened as she heard Thomas's footsteps carry him back downstairs.

Minutes later, the sound of Mr. Carson's shouts once again came up the stairwell. She missed the first bit of it, but the end of it was crystal clear:

"If she won't eat with _me,_ then she won't eat _at all!"_

"But surely -"

"No!"

Elsie rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and plopped herself back on her bed to wait out the storm.

oOoOoOo

Charles trudged back up to his rooms. He crossed in front of the unlit fireplace and stared at the mirror. He'd sworn never to use it again; truth be told, he was frightened of the thing. But there was no other way as far as he could see. Snatching it up, he turned it in his hand and gazed at the center.

"Show me the woman," he growled.

The surface of the glass shimmered, and he felt the handle tingle in his hand. As he peered into the mirror, his own reflection dissolved and, in its place, he could see his new housekeeper seated on her bed, the small clock in her hand.

"Oh, Da," she was whispering. "I'll do whatever it takes to be able to stay here for you, but it's so hard. He's _horrible,_ and I'm not sure how strong I can be …"

Charles's heart thudded, and he twisted the mirror in his grip and placed it back upon the table, face down, not noticing as yet another petal fell from the rose.

He turned and headed to the small cart in the corner of the room, where he poured himself a healthy measure of whisky.

 _She's too headstrong,_ he thought. _Too unwilling._

He glanced up at the portrait above the mantle, cringing at the damage and wondering for the millionth time why he'd not simply taken it down years ago.

 _And she's kind,_ he added grudgingly …

… _and beautiful._

He drained the glass and placed it harshly back onto the cart.

 _It'll never work._

oOoOoOoOo

It took another hour for Elsie's hunger to take precedence over her desire to stubbornly remain in her room. She'd not heard Mr. Carson yelling - or even moving about - since having refused to go down for dinner, and so deeming it relatively safe (and knowing that food could likely be found if she searched hard enough), she lit a small candle by the bedside and slowly opened the bedroom door, the soft soles of her shoes making no noise on the floor as she slipped out of the room and headed for the stairs.

It was Thomas who noticed her first. Her presence startled him as he was checking the state of the first-floor corridor, and he moved to block her way a bit.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said quietly, with a furtive glance towards the steps leading to the butler's domain, "it wouldn't do for you to be caught out of bed."

Elsie's eyebrows rose.

"My understanding was that I'm not technically a prisoner here, Thomas," she said, trying to reason with him.

The growl that emanated from her stomach gave him pause, but he stood his ground.

"Yes, well, be that as it may …"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Barrow," came a quiet voice from around the corner. "She's got to be famished by now."

 _Anna._

Elsie smiled at the girl, who returned the gesture in kind.

"Thank you, Anna," she said kindly, and she walked around Thomas and headed for the green baize door that Anna was holding open for her.

"That's another thing," Thomas added, a bit perturbed now to be following Elsie instead of warding her off. "Mr. Carson is a rather particular individual. Quite a stickler for tradition."

"Mm-hm," Elsie replied as she hastened down the steps to the kitchen and, she presumed, servants' dining area. Her stomach was leading the way now, and she really didn't have it in her to pretend she wasn't starving.

"Ah! There you are!" cried Mrs. Patmore, waving Elsie to the table. "Sit, dearie. You must be ravenous."

"Thank you, Daisy," Elsie said as the young girl pulled out her chair.

"As I was saying, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas tried again.

"Mr. Carson. Stickler for tradition. Yes, Thomas, I'm paying attention."

"It's _Mr. Barrow,_ Mrs. Hughes," he said sourly. "That's the point."

"Oh, heavens," Mrs. Patmore muttered as she set a platter on the table before Elsie. "Are you on about that again?"

"And why not?" Thomas sputtered. "It's my head he'll have if she doesn't know. I am the -"

"Yes, yes, the _under butler,"_ Mr. Bates drawled as he appeared in the doorway. "We know."

Elsie watched their interactions with interest, although the appearance of a third platter on the table was desperately vying for her attention.

"May I?" Mr. Bates gestured to the decanter of wine that had appeared on the table at some point, and Elsie nodded.

Thomas - _No,_ Elsie remembered, _Mr. Barrow_ \- looked positively apoplectic at the sight of it.

"Tell me that's not from the private stores," he whispered. "It better not be his."

"Settle down. It's from mine," Mr. Bates replied with a smirk. "And don't worry; I didn't steal it. Although perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned that it's mine … that could have been fun," he added, winking at Elsie and making her giggle.

"All right, dearie," Mrs. Patmore announced as she deposited a bowl of dinner rolls on the table. "This should hold you for a while. Just a couple more things ..."

"Wait," Elsie protested, looking around at everyone. "You can't possibly mean this is all for me. That's preposterous!"

"Ah, yes … well," Thomas hedged, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. "You see, our dinner hour was ages ago."

"But you didn't eat!" Daisy piped up, surprising them all. "None of you did! Mr. Carson was angry and shoved all the food onto the -"

"That's enough, pet," Mrs. Patmore said gently, effectively silencing the girl. "None of that now. We wouldn't want Mrs. Hughes getting an unnecessarily _bad_ opinion of the man now, would we?"

Elsie quirked an eyebrow at the cook, but bit down on her lip in lieu of commenting aloud.

Daisy went back into the kitchen and returned soon after, clearly struggling with a huge tureen.

"Soup du jour," she managed, putting the dish down with some difficulty. "Vegetable."

"And cheese soufflé," Mrs. Patmore added, placing a dish in front of Elsie. "Just out of the oven, so watch that."

"Please," Elsie insisted. "You all have to join me. I can't _possibly_ eat all of this!"

Anna nudged Mr. Bates, and he acquiesced, looking to Thomas for approval.

The under butler glanced down the corridor, but there was no sign of Mr. Carson.

"Oh, I suppose," he muttered, and he took his seat near the head of the table … and directly across from Elsie.

She smiled and nodded, silently considering it a win, and tried the soufflé.

"This is heavenly," she murmured, smiling at the cook.

"You should try the grey stuff," Anna told her. "It's delicious."

"All right," Elsie smiled. "Wait a minute. Where's Phyllis?"

"Miss Baxter," Thomas supplied.

"Right. Where is she?"

"She had some sewing to finish up, I think," Anna said.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's my fault," Elsie apologized. "She offered to help me, but I certainly didn't mean to make her miss her meal."

"That's down to Himself, really, isn't it?" Mrs. Patmore muttered, reaching to help herself to some of the soup and turning back to the kitchen.

"Please join us at the table," Elsie beckoned. "Just this once. I'd like to get to know you all a bit, if at all possible. And Miss Baxter, too, if she comes down."

Mrs. Patmore looked up at her, and a smile crept over her face.

"Well," she said slowly - _gleefully,_ Elsie thought - "as you are the senior-ranking member at table at the moment, I suppose I should listen to you."

Elsie could feel Thomas's eyes boring into her, and it was all she could do to nod at the cook and ignore the under butler.

"You eat up now," Mrs. Patmore added. "And there's a pudding en flambé for after. Then you can get back upstairs, put your feet up, and relax." She glanced upward as though looking straight through to Mr. Carson's rooms. "I've a feeling tomorrow will be a rather busy day for you."

Elsie gulped.

"Indeed."

 **A/N:** WE LOVE YOU! With each new chapter posted, you guys amaze us with your comments, love, reblogs, gifs, reviews, and support for our collaborative efforts. We had so much fun writing this, and it's such a joy to be able to share that excitement with you, now, as you read it. To our guest reviewers (and readers who don't leave reviews), we send you love and hugs, too. We will post another chapter in a few days!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Her first days proved to be busy ones for Elsie. She'd requested Anna's assistance at breakfast the first morning she spent as the official Housekeeper, needing to get a feel for the massive place that she now knew was named Downton Abbey. She learned about more servants' stairways hidden behind walls, was shown rooms upon rooms of dusty, partially-covered furniture and tightly shut-up windows, and was given suggestions for shortcuts so that she could navigate it all more easily.

"It'll become second nature after a while," Anna had told her, but Elsie had just nodded, wide-eyed, trying to take it all in and hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't actually be here long enough to memorize it all anyhow.

After the tour, Anna had shown Elsie to a small office located in the servants' corridor.

"This'll be your parlour now, I imagine," she'd said. "There are a few things in here that were Mrs. Bute's. I can remove them if you like."

Elsie's eyes had scanned the room, taking in a rather modest assortment of things - silhouetted pictures on the wall, a small tea set, a side table with a beautiful lace cloth laid over the top.

"No, this will do nicely," she'd replied. "I don't imagine I'll be in here much anyhow, not with all the tidying and organizing that needs to be done."

"Well, Miss Baxter will help as well, and Daisy likes to get out of the kitchen now and again."

"I'm sure," Elsie had replied with a smirk. She'd clasped her hands before her abdomen, looking once more around the room and taking a deep, cleansing breath. "All right, I should get on with it then. I think the first order of business will be to make an inventory of the rooms that need dusting off and airing out, beginning with the main rooms downstairs and working our way up. Now, this West Wing …"

"I wouldn't bother with that," Anna had said fearfully, her eyes flickering upward as if she could see Mr. Carson's rooms through two levels of the home. "He won't allow it."

"But surely there's cleaning and tidying to be done?"

"Not likely," Anna had admitted. "None that he'd let anyone else touch, anyhow. He's a rather private man, Mr. Carson. And, well … not willing to let anyone else up there, really."

Elsie had pursed her lips. "Hm. All right, I guess we'll skip that for the time being."

Now, two days later, Anna watched as the housekeeper made her way to the desk and sat, pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer, and began making a few notes. The young woman was intrigued by Mrs. Hughes, she couldn't deny it. There was something about her that was so _different._ Different from Mrs. Bute, anyhow. Mrs. Hughes seemed orderly and sharp, but there was a sad kindness beneath her exterior, something that made Anna want to fight in her corner.

Anna jumped a bit as Elsie caught her out. "Is something the matter?" Elsie asked, her brow furrowed in genuine concern.

Anna blushed, smiling a bit as she shook her head.

"Not at all, Mrs. Hughes. It's just …"

Now Elsie truly _was_ concerned. "It's what, dear?"

Anna's smile widened, and the frightened look in her bright blue eyes was replaced with something very different, indeed.

"Mr. Carson is a good man, beneath all of the grumbling and grousing," Anna revealed. "He misses the family fiercely."

"Why? They're not _his_ family," Elsie observed.

"Well, they're the only family he's got, I think."

"I see," Elsie whispered, thinking back for the millionth time to her Da. "That's sad, isn't it?"

Anna didn't reply, and as Elsie refocused, she found the young woman staring at her again. "Anna?"

"I think you just might be exactly what we've needed around here," Anna said softly, drawing herself up a bit straighter. "Now, I'll let you get on with it. Shall I start in the morning room today?

"Yes, if you please. How about we meet at the linen closet on the second floor in …" She gazed at the clock. " … half an hour? Then you can help me sort what's what."

Anna smiled again, broadly this time and without reservation.

"Perfect."

Elsie sighed as Anna closed the door behind herself. She forced her eyes back onto the list she'd begun, questioning a couple of things but writing them down nevertheless. While wholly new to the job she was undertaking, Elsie had always been meticulous, considering each new situation presented to her from all angles, and the handling of Downton - and of its resident butler – were things that needed a good deal of consideration, indeed. The impression he'd given initially was that they were to be a team of sorts, and she'd warmed up to that idea immediately. But now his anger and stubbornness seemed poised to get in the way of all of that, and Elsie felt very much the peasant living in the grand estate. It was only Mrs. Patmore's comment of how Elsie outranked everyone at dinner that kept her eye on the prize: She _was_ the housekeeper now, and if she did a spectacular job, Mr. Carson just may agree that her Da's debt was paid … and then Elsie would be free to go.

But now she had Anna's assessment of the man himself; if Elsie were pressed to put a word to it, she'd say Anna had been trying to describe Mr. Carson as _lonely._

 _Lonely, perhaps, but not altogether kind either. Still, no reason not to do my best at this new job._

With a firm nod, Elsie put pen to paper once again and finished her list of jobs to tackle, each one meant to bring Downton back to its former state of glory.

oOoOoOoOo

It was hours later before Elsie saw another soul save for Anna. She was on her way back up to her bedroom when she almost ran head-first into Mr. Carson as he was rounding the corner.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his hand landing at the small of her back in an attempt to keep her from losing her balance. "What are you doing up here?"

Elsie's hand had reached out to grasp at whatever it could find fastest, which turned out to be the great man's strong forearm.

"I'm … I'm sorry," she stammered.

Her eyes flew up to meet his, and Elsie felt as if time froze for a moment, and she wasn't quite sure why her heart felt as though it were fluttering in her stomach. She noted the depth of color in the butler's eyes, a lovely combination of browns and greys with just a hint of green. She felt the warmth from his hand through the fabric of her dress, realizing that he'd yet to stop touching her.

 _Oh!_

It was the feel of fabric of his livery crushed between her fingers that brought her thoughts to a screeching halt. She relinquished her hold on him and he removed his hand from her waist, straightening the front of his jacket as she smoothed his sleeve.

She cleared her throat. "I was checking on the rooms in this wing to be sure the windows were properly shut," Elsie told him. "Anna and I gave them a bit of an airing out today, but the cooler air has blown in again, and it wouldn't do to be careless."

For the first time, Charles noted their surroundings, realising that the slight difference he'd felt prior to bumping into his new housekeeper was the admittance of fresh air into the Abbey itself. The corridor was brighter, and a glance past Mrs. Hughes's head into the bedroom behind them showed a fluttering curtain - proof that she did, in fact, need to still close a few more rooms up.

He bit back the harsh comment on his tongue as he recalled Mr. Barrow's words from just that morning, words about how Mrs. Hughes seemed to be settling in and how she was a hard worker whom the staff already respected and cared for.

"Would you like some help?" he asked instead, his voice deep and gruff as though it were more used to barking orders instead of uttering softer kindnesses.

Elsie couldn't help the widening of her eyes or the faint upturn of her rosy lips, and she inclined her head slightly.

"That would be most welcome, Mr. Carson," she replied kindly. "Thank you."

He backed away from her a bit and extended his arm, bidding her to precede him into the bedroom.

"My goodness, you _have_ been busy," he remarked, noting that the furniture was all uncovered and every surface polished and prepped, as though they were expecting guests at a moment's notice.

"This was mostly Anna's work in here," Elsie informed him, and she felt as though his eyes were boring into her back as she reached forward to crank the window shut. She glanced up at the lock and reached for it, but it was just beyond where her fingertips could grasp. Looking to her side, Elsie tried to locate the small stepping stool she'd employed earlier that morning in order to unlock all the windows, but Mr. Carson was one step ahead of her.

"Allow me," he murmured, his voice rumbling despite his attempt not to be terribly loud, and Elsie's breath caught in her throat as he reached around her body and easily slid the lock into place. She hadn't even heard him come up behind her.

"Thank you," she managed as he was backing quickly away.

"How many more rooms did you and Anna get to today, Mrs. Hughes?" He was casting about for any topic of conversation, at this point, in order to distract himself from the way in which her deep blue eyes seemed to see into his very soul. "I hope it was the entire corridor," he added gruffly, not wanting her to think his expectations were slipping.

"Don't worry," she replied lightly as she brushed past him and back out the door. "It was."

Charles just stood there for a moment, flabbergasted. The close proximity of her body had flustered him, but as she exited the room he noted the slight sway of her hips and, unless he was quite mistaken, he thought she may just have done _that_ on purpose.

"Mr. Carson?"

He closed his mouth and met her in the doorway before following to help with the next window, attempting to keep his body at a more suitable distance from her own. The entire experience seemed to create something of an uncomfortable atmosphere between them, but he thought he preferred that to the close proximity and racing heart he'd experienced in the previous room.

When all of the rooms were closed up again, Charles took another look at his new housekeeper.

"A farm girl, eh? Are you sure?"

Elsie's eyebrows flew up, and she laughed a bit as he mimicked the action with his own.

"Are you … Are you _teasing me,_ Mr. Carson?"

He tugged once again at his waistcoat, then clipped his watch open and checked the time.

"Now why would I ever do that, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I've no idea. See you at six, then?"

Carson nodded, and for a fleeting moment, all was right with his world.

oOoOoOoOo

Dinner passed easily, but as the hour wore on it appeared that the servants' attention was drifting. If Elsie didn't know better, she'd have said they appeared to be bored.

"Mr. Carson," Thomas asked. "Do you mind if I excuse myself? I've got a few things to catch up on."

Elsie kept her eyes trained on her plate, not wanting to give in to the impulse of speaking up, wondering aloud what on earth Thomas could have to do that he'd not managed to accomplish during the day. In her eyes, there was little for him to actually _do_ given that no guests were in attendance.

"You may, Mr. Barrow," came the butler's authoritative voice.

"I'll go with you, if you like," Phyllis said softly, and Thomas nodded - followed swiftly by a roll of his eyes as Molesley's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Might I join you? I think I'm too stuffed to eat another bite." He glanced down the table to where Anna sat, looked at her intently, and she proceeded to yawn widely.

Daisy popped her head in from the kitchen. "Pudding in five minutes, Mr. Carson. We've had a bit of a setback."

"A setback?"

"Nothing to worry about!" came Mrs. Patmore's voice.

At that, Mr. Bates rose from his seat and helped Anna with her chair.

"Mind if we head out for a bit of fresh air?" he asked Charles. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. Barrow as well, if you like. I'm sure his 'unfinished business' involves a smoke in the Queen Mother's rose garden."

Elsie flushed at the mention of the roses, but said nothing.

"You'll all miss the pudding," Charles said.

But Mr. Bates only smiled, and Elsie saw as Anna deftly - and sneakily - slipped her hand into his as soon as they were out of the butler's view.

"Well," Elsie said, "it looks as though it's just us left, Mr. Carson."

His eyes met hers across the table, and he cleared his throat. "So it does. But I hope you won't abandon me."

Elsie felt a tingling warmth creep up her cheeks. Of course she wouldn't abandon him; she _couldn't,_ not per their agreement. Still, she felt that wasn't quite what he meant.

She was saved from answering by Daisy coming through the door once again, an array of small, glass dishes on her tray.

"Where'd everyone go?" she wondered aloud.

"They were all stuffed full," Elsie breathed, astonished at what she spied in the dishes. "Is that …"

"Cranachan," Daisy said slowly, trying to get her mouth to form the word. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've said that right."

"It's good enough, lass," Elsie replied warmly, and her eyes darted to the butler. "Is this your doing, Mr. Carson?"

"Certainly not." He seemed as astonished as she, and indeed he _was,_ for the fruity, creamy substance in the dishes didn't in any way resemble the sticky toffee pudding he was expecting to see.

"T'were Mrs. Patmore's idea," Daisy whispered to Elsie. "She thought it'd be good for you to see something familiar. She said your Da makes it sometimes?"

Elsie's eyes welled up, and she nodded, swallowing her emotions as best she could. "Thank her," she managed to whisper. "Please. Thank her for me."

Daisy bobbed her head and darted back into the kitchen as Charles examined the contents of the dish before him and attempted to ignore the emotion written all over his housekeeper's face.

"Beaten cream, berries, and toasted oats," Elsie supplied. "It won't bite you, you know. And it's delicious."

"Berries in the wintertime?" he marveled. "I wonder how she managed that?"

"I neither know nor care," Elsie replied, digging in with her spoon. "Maybe it was a bit of magic."

Charles nearly choked on his first bite.

"Are you all right?" Elsie asked, her hand touching his as she looked to his now red face in concern.

"Fine, Mrs. Hughes," he said, coughing once again and clearing his throat. "Just fine."

 **A/N:** Well, how do you think things are progressing for our butler and housekeeper? Are they to be friends, then? Will she keep him steady? Will he let life change him? Let us hear from you, please. We love hearing your thoughts on our chapters. Thanks so much to those of you who have supported us with your love, reviews, reblogs, likes, and messages. We appreciate each and every one!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Joe Burns was in a dark mood, and that was never a good thing for anyone who happened to cross his path. He could be charming, a bit over the top usually, and the life of the party at any pub in town, but today, he was in no mood to suffer fools lightly. Jos Tufton was typically the only exception, mainly because he never truly challenged Joe or his ideas, worked tirelessly to boost his ego, and went along with any and all crazy plans Joe embarked upon.

The skies overhead did nothing to improve his mood. The clouds were grey, feathering out across the sky and hiding the bright blue behind a veil of gloom and dreariness. It had been weeks since clear skies and white clouds had been seen overhead, weeks since he had seen Elsie, weeks since he had listened with ridicule as Colin told the wild and fantastical tale of his beloved daughter being held captive by some ogre in a castle. It was all too much to believe and yet there was something desperate about Colin's behavior, his wild eyes, and his panicked state. It left him with a feeling he couldn't quite shake.

As Joe sat outside his cottage whittling a piece of wood, he ran through the story once more in his mind. The very thought of Elsie being held captive against her will was laughable. He had seen that fire in her soul, borne the brunt of her sharp tongue, and seen her strong determination when she set her mind to something. And yet, she loved her father more than anything, of that he was certain. She had rallied to his defense on more than one occasion when Joe or Jos had spoken harshly about the aging man and his ability to tend to his farm.

Why on earth would she willingly leave him alone, abandon him to face the harsh reality of the day to day chores, and the possibility of losing it all by the end of the year? The Elsie Hughes who was admired and respected in the village would never dream of such a thing. Sure, the women loved to gossip about the lonely Scottish lass, speculate on her prospects, and thought her peculiar because of her love of reading and books, but aside from that, Joe didn't think he had ever heard a negative or harsh word against her.

Joe grumbled loudly to himself and aggressively attacked the piece of wood with the knife, no longer interested in carving the figurine he'd intended. The more he pondered Elsie and her situation, the sharper the point became on the end of the wood. If someone was holding Elsie against her will, and he rescued her, perhaps her father would be so grateful that he would force … no – _encourage –_ yes, strongly encourage … his daughter to do the right thing and marry her rescuer. And if that failed, Joe could demand payment for his services and take the farm as reimbursement for the life of Elsie. Maybe then, she would concede to marrying him, if for no other reason than to spare her beloved father his reputation and the farm.

With vigor, he began to whittle more at the wood, which now bore a striking resemblance to a stake, as he started to formulate a plan. It wouldn't be difficult to make the villagers believe that he and Tufton were going on a hunting expedition for a few days. They could pack a few provisions and then scour the countryside in search of this mysterious estate and the beast of a man holding Elsie against her will. Once they had discovered the location, or disproven the theory entirely, he could come back to the village and set his other plans in motion, and those would be dependent on the outcome of the journey.

If, in fact, there was a large, stately home hidden away in some wooded area of the countryside, Joe felt confident he could round up enough of the men from the village and storm the castle, taking Elsie and whatever spoils he desired. After all, if the man holding her allowed Colin to leave and let a woman take his place, surely he couldn't be a strong brute. It would probably prove no more difficult than taking down a stag on one of his regular hunting trips. It would all be over quickly, and Elsie would be home by nightfall while he was praised and rewarded at the pub for his valiant efforts in saving her from her captor.

On the other hand, if he could prove that Colin was deranged and no castle existed, it would be easy to have the old man tossed into the insane asylum, pay the taxes on his property, and increase his fortunes. He would, of course, remind Elsie of his generous offer of marriage. A poor little woman, all alone in the world with no true means of supporting herself while her father was locked away and the threat of their land being seized or sold, would surely take advantage of his proposal. In time, she would learn to love him. After all, he was the most charming man in the village. Either way, he could emerge from this with heavier pockets and an even greater reputation in the town.

"Whatcha making, Joe?" Jos Tufton had been friends with Burns long enough to read his moods and to cater to them as needed. Seeing the pile of shavings at Joe's feet and the point on the end of the piece of wood was enough to make the simpering man more than a little nervous. Clearly, Joe had been deep in thought, since he seemed a bit startled by Jos's appearance at the cottage.

"Ah, Jos! Right on time!" Joe gave him a toothy grin and stood up, stretching his back and pulling himself up to his full height. "You and I are going on a little adventure," he said, looking around as if to make certain no one overheard his wild scheme. "You see, I've been thinking of what Colin said at the pub the other night. What if … mind you, I'm not convinced at all … but what if his story is true?" Joe twirled the sharpened stick around in his hand anxiously, almost as if he was looking for a target to strike with the point.

Jos laughed so hard he doubled over. "That crazy old loon! His daughter probably ran away so she didn't have to put up with the farm and all that debt. You said it yourself that they're in serious troubles, and we've both heard the rumors. Maybe she met someone in another village and ran off with him," he suggested, regretting his words as soon as they left his lips.

"And why on earth would she dream of marrying someone else when I have offered her the chance to be Mrs. Joe Burns? I could give her things no man in three counties could even think of providing. She'd have the run of the village! Soon, we'd start having children. I'd even let her father remain at their old cottage. I'd allow her to visit him once or twice a month, just to make sure he's well. After all, any father-in-law of mine would have to be fitted with the finest if his name was to be associated with mine!" Joe puffed out his chest and shook his head. "No, it's not another man. Of that, I'm certain. Besides, if she'd married someone in another village, wouldn't that man, if he were as honorable as me, pay the taxes on the farm or at least sell it and move Colin closer? There's something unsettling about the old man's story, and we're going to find out just what that is!"

Tufton gulped but readily agreed to the plan, though he had serious reservations about it. "But, Joe, if Colin can't tell us where the castle is, how on earth are we supposed to find it? It could be anywhere, assuming it even exists, and we've both been all over these woods for years. Besides, you've agreed to that shooting tournament in a few days. If you miss that, people might say you were scared of losing your title, and then there would be gossip. And, if you don't participate, you'll lose the prize money and someone else will be awarded the trophy."

Joe sneered and clapped Jos on the back. "You're thinking in small terms, Jos. What's a trophy compared to marrying Elsie Hughes, the smartest, toughest woman in the village? And if there is a castle and we locate it first, there could be all sorts of opportunities. Rich daughters, livestock, trade opportunities. We might even be able to find you a woman, too," he laughed heartily. "Marry you off to the cook, perhaps, so she can fill your belly with meat pies and make a proper home for you. After all, if I'm marrying Elsie, you'll need something to occupy your time while I'm at home making sure we have a brood of children!"

Joe elbowed Jos in the ribs and laughed until his sides began to hurt. The more he discussed his plan, the more it was coming into focus. Everything he had ever wanted was coming into reach. He just had to make sure nothing interfered, no one suspected anything until the right moment, and he had the full support of the villagers when it was time to strike.

After gathering provisions for their journey, Joe and Jos set out to find this elusive castle and rescue Elsie from her captor. "I think we should stop by the farm," Jos suggested. "We don't have to tell him what we're planning, but maybe see if he's remembered anything more about the location of the house or something that might help us find it."

"Excellent idea, Jos! If he can give us any clues, it would make this so much easier," he said, slapping the man on the back hard enough to make him sputter. "We'll drop in on him unannounced, see what he has to say. Maybe his story has changed or, like you say, he's remembered something important."

When they arrived at the Hughes farm, Joe and Jos were surprised to find it deserted. The chickens were pecking for their meal in the front yard and there was enough hay and water for the cow to last for days. The house seemed deserted and upon further inspection, so was the barn. "Surely, he hasn't gone off on his own to try to rescue Elsie, and he's certainly not irresponsible enough to just abandon everything, not when he's been working so hard to keep it," Joe mused.

"Maybe he's gone to Ripon or somewhere close by to sell more of his clocks or to drum up support there. He's bound to have friends in those villages, too. After all, the way he was mocked in the pub here in town certainly didn't give him any hope of help from any of us."

Joe gave the matter some considerable thought, weighing out all the options and trying to calculate his next move. "Right! You stay here. Tend things and keep an eye out for Colin or anyone else who comes snooping around the farm. Let them know, in no uncertain terms, that this farm is under my protection … at least for now. And if he happens to return, don't let him out of your sight until I get back. If he's playing me for a fool, I will make him pay. And if he's telling the truth … well, it can only work in my favor once I find Elsie and bring her home. One way or another, we're going to get to the bottom of this and Elsie will be my wife."

With his orders firmly planted in his head, Jos settled down on the front stoop of the cottage and waited, watching as Joe readied his horse and rode down the path leading towards the woods. He wasn't sold on the story Colin was telling but he had to give the man some credit. He wasn't one to spin wild tales, unlike Joe who was prone to embellishing even the simplest stories, so for him to seek help from the other men of the village there had to be some sort of truth to his words.

oOoOoOoOo

With no offer of help from any of the men in the village and being ridiculed out of the pub when he'd sought their assistance, Colin had returned home feeling lost and defeated. His only child, his precious Elsie, was being held captive and forced to work to pay off a silly debt - and all for a rose. He had spent most of the night and the next several days running through different plans to get her back. He even entertained the notion of selling off the farm, taking the money, and hoping it was enough to repay the debt and to secure Elsie's freedom. However, with the taxes due on the farm and the meager income he had from the sale of crops and his clocks, Colin was certain it wouldn't be enough to appease the man at the castle. Still, he couldn't sit idly by and do nothing. He had to get back to her, see her, perhaps reason with the man once more.

So, after a couple of weeks spent preparing for an extended departure, he saddled Philippe, locked up the cottage, and set off once more for this mysterious house with the very unfriendly caretaker in the hope of seeing Elsie again.

The treetops created a thick canopy overhead, and Colin was grateful for the slivers of light that lit the path before them. If it had been a sunnier day, it might have made for a more pleasant ride. Unfortunately, the overcast skies threatened rain and the air had turned damp and musty, smelling of thick moss, decaying leaves, and rich dirt. He was almost certain they were on the right path towards the house. At times, some of the trees looked familiar. Then again, they would round a bend and nothing looked familiar at all. He had guided Philippe down the well-traveled path to Ripon then diverged down a smaller trail leading off to the left, all the while keeping an eye out for his old, abandoned cart, or what was left of it after the fierce storm … or any sign that he had chosen the correct path to follow.

The deeper into the woods they rode, the cooler the air became and the more unstable the path. Colin began to shiver from the dampness in the air and during a particularly heavy coughing fit, Philippe stumbled and came to an abrupt halt.

"Come now, boy. We can't stop now, not here at least," he said, looking around cautiously. "This is no place for us, my friend. Too dangerous, too many things that might be lurking in these woods."

But Philippe would not be budged. Instead, he pawed at the ground with his front hoof and shook his head.

Troubled by the turn of events, Colin dismounted to try to lead the horse only to discover that he'd somehow thrown a shoe. "Well, that's the problem," he said sadly, patting the horse's head. "Looks like we're going to be traveling a lot slower from here on out. Can't ride you with no shoe on this right hoof, but it looks like it came away clean." Colin released the horse's leg and watched as Philippe resettled. "Right, no sense in standing around here. We've come too far to turn back towards home so we might as well see if we can't find help or at least the castle."

Going at a much slower pace on foot and with nightfall closing in around them, Colin was very wary of his surroundings. All sorts of animals liked to hunt in the night, and with an injured horse, he knew they were both vulnerable. His coughing and chills had increased, too, as they ventured deeper into the woods. Though he was careful to ration his water supply, Colin couldn't seem to get enough to drink, and despite the chills shaking his body, he felt so warm that he tossed off his cloak. Philippe, sensing a change in his owner, slowed the pace even more, and before long, Colin stopped and leaned heavily against a tree.

"Not sure I can go much further, my friend," he said through a coughing fit which made his chest ache and burn. "I don't see so well in the dark. Maybe if I just took a little rest … sat down for a bit and closed my eyes," he said even as he his knees started to buckle and he slide down the side of the tree to the ground. Philippe neighed loudly and nudged Colin's head with his nose, forcing the old man to look up at his trusted companion. His vision was blurred and his head was pounding as he patted the horse on the forehead, offering what little comfort he could to the slightly nervous animal.

Off in the distance, though, Colin heard the sound of other horses approaching and what sounded like a carriage. And suddenly, the sound disappeared and he could hear muffled talking, though he was at the point of losing consciousness. The last thing he saw before his world went black was the figure of a woman standing over him, her soft voice licking at the edges of his thoughts … something about home, warmth, and medicine. And then, everything was dark.

 **A/N:** Let the speculation begin! Who has approached Colin? Will Joe be successful in learning more information about Elsie? And just what are his plans once he returns to the village … with or without Elsie? Stay tuned for the next chapter of The Cursed Butler for answers …

We'd love to hear what you think of the chapter (and the overall story) if you are so inclined to leave us a review. ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and I appreciate all of your support and encouragement for our story! HUGS! xx


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely reviews! We are so very glad you're enjoying this crazy crossover. Special shout-out to the guest reviewers to whom we cannot reply personally. One of those reviews gave us a good chuckle a while back because of this particular chapter. :)**  
 **HUGE thanks to dameofdownstairs on tumblr for the fab artwork that graces our tumblr posts and is the cover pic for this fic.**  
 **Love to you all!**

 **CSotA & Hogwarts Duo**

* * *

Elsie finally felt as though she was getting a feel for her new position and the variety of efforts it entailed. She was no stranger to hard work, but housework and organization were vastly different tasks from sowing and harvesting, and her mind had needed some time to grasp the scope and size of the home where she now resided. Long corridors were filled with endless rooms, those all filled with ornate furniture. It was such a far cry from the four modest rooms she shared with her Da on the farm. That, plus the management of the meagre staff, formulating rotas, and overall general cleaning, meant that Elsie virtually collapsed into bed every night, tired but satisfied with a day's work well done.

This afternoon, Elsie was glad for the dozens of windows that she and Anna had been washing all week. The light was streaming in through the curtains in the morning room and she peeked out for the millionth time at the expansive view, still breathless at the vastness before her. Sunshine and a gentle autumn breeze were tickling the grass, and despite the cold weather she knew was on the horizon for the weeks ahead, Elsie couldn't help wanting to spend the remainder of the day outside rather than in. Her eyes scanned the grounds, and when her gaze landed upon the horse barn, it rested on the beautiful dapple grey mare nibbling on her hay in the paddock.

The horse was beautiful. It was beautiful and it was _hers,_ because Mr. Carson had caught her out at the stables two days ago, despondent over missing her Da … and Philippe.

His footsteps had been heavy on the gravel that morning, Elsie recalled, and as she gently closed her eyes she felt herself swept back to their conversation. She could almost feel how the wind had rustled the skirts of her new dress, how the fabric had tickled her skin …

… and she could still hear his voice in her head.

" _Mrs. Hughes? I didn't expect to find you here."_

 _She turned quickly, wiping at her eyes. "Mr. Carson! I'm sorry. I needed a moment and -"_

" _There's no need to apologize," he said gruffly. And, after another moment, a bit more quietly, he added, "You must miss him."_

" _My father? Of course I do."_

" _I meant your horse," he clarified, staring at the ground even as she stole a glance at his face. "Of course, you miss your father as well."_

" _Oh. Yes. I do miss Philippe. We've had him for many years. But I'm happy he's with my Da. That way neither of them are alone."_

 _Just then, the young mare before her whinnied and came closer to the door of her stall._

" _Take her," Mr. Carson said suddenly. "If you wish to ride, the grounds of the estate are at your disposal." He paused, and then added quietly, "I sometimes find a ride is good to clear my own head when it's full of … well, things."_

" _Oh, I couldn't possibly," she argued._

" _I insist. She has no one to ride her; she's too small for me, I think. She was born three years ago, and therefore she has no proper owner."_

 _Elsie filed that away for later, in the part of her mind she was reserving for details about what had happened in this strange place and to the family who'd clearly lived here._

 _Another pause, and then he added with a smirk, "That is, if you can convince her to allow it."_

" _I've trained horses before, Mr. Carson," she replied, her lips turning up even as she stared at the horse, who was now happily chewing at some hay in the feeder by the gate. "What do you call her?"_

" _Rebekah," he said quietly._

 _Elsie's eyes widened, and she turned swiftly to face him. "Is that a joke, Mr. Carson?" she whispered._

" _Certainly not. I never joke." He looked puzzled, and she shook the strange feeling away._

" _No, I'm sure you don't," she agreed. "It's just …"_

 _It was his turn to be confused. "What?"_

 _Elsie turned back to the beautiful horse and whispered to her, holding out her hand, "Come here, dear Rebekah. Are we to be friends?" She gasped when Rebekah approached her slowly before sniffing her palm and nuzzling it gently._

 _Elsie turned back to the butler._

" _It was my Mam's name," she whispered tearfully. "I never knew her, but my_ _Da_ _always told me she was the gentlest soul, and that she had long, dark hair much like mine."_

 _He looked at the horse's black mane and tail, saw the way she was instantly calm under Mrs. Hughes's touch, and cleared his throat._

" _Perhaps she was always meant to be yours, then," he mumbled before turning abruptly and striding purposefully back to the house._

Elsie sighed, shaking her head gently as the memory dissipated into what became the rest of her afternoon: a meeting with Anna to schedule the opening, airing out, and cleaning of the East Wing, and a cuppa shared in her sitting room with Mrs. Patmore as they planned out the next week's menu.

"I don't suppose you'll just let me take the key," the cook half-teased as she sipped at her hot tea. "That way you don't need to spend as much time down here and can focus on that," she said, pointing at the new rota that rested on Elsie's desk.

"That key is worth more than my life," Elsie laughed. "He was exceptionally clear about _that_ particular point in his instruction."

Mrs. Patmore laughed. "Well, it's good that there's one woman in this place that he trusts to keep it all going, I suppose."

"He couldn't keep this place afloat without you, and you know it," Elsie reminded her. "I think the key business is more like a tradition. The housekeeper is the keeper of the house _and_ the keys, and that's the way he sees it is all."

"You've no need to defend him to me, you know," the cook said softly. "I remember the kind of man he is."

Elsie was about to ask her just what she meant by that when the very man's knock sounded at the door.

"Come in, Mr. Carson," Elsie called as she and Mrs. Patmore stood.

"Please," he said, waving the back to their seats. "There's no need for that in your own office. I just came to see if either of you had seen Mr. Molesley."

"Have you checked with Miss Baxter?" Elsie asked innocently.

"Why?" The butler's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I do believe they were in the hall an hour or so ago when I happened by."

"What were they doing in the hall?" he bellowed. "Together?"

"I believe they were talking, Mr. Carson," Elsie deadpanned. "But I'm sure if you find her, you'll find him close by."

"Hmph." He left without closing the door.

"He's not very quick sometimes, is he?" Elsie chuckled, and she enjoyed the roll of the eyes Mrs. Patmore gave her.

"Not in matters such as those, no."

Their laughter was happy and it made Elsie feel a bit more at home, grateful to have somehow struck up an unlikely friendship with the woman seated before her.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

A few nights later, Elsie was finishing up some work in the near-darkness of her parlour. She capped her pen and laid it gently at the top of her desk, looking around the room with no small amount of pride at the way she was managing to carve out a small space of her own here in the big, drafty house. Her heart still ached with a longing for her home on the farm and for the jovial warmth of her Da's presence, but the satisfaction of a job well done was something she appreciated. Never in a million years would Elsie have dreamed she'd spend part of her life in service, yet the circumstances of the past weeks were making her question if she was still the farm girl she had been not long ago.

She wasn't sure.

With a sigh, she rose from her chair, turned off the lamp, and locked the door behind herself before heading to her bedroom. As she walked down the corridor, she smiled at the sound of voices drifting to her ears.

"It's just something we have in common," Mr. Barrow was saying.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Mr. Bates replied quietly. "I was just remarking on how Mrs. Hughes hadn't mentioned it to the rest of us."

"Hadn't mentioned what?"

Elsie's voice and sudden appearance startled both men, who jumped and turned to see her standing just behind them.

"Erm," Mr. Barrow began, looking down at the floor, "the clocks."

Elsie's eyes light up. "Oh! The clocks. Of course." She looked toward Mr. Bates. "It seems that Mr. Barrow and I share something of a knowledge of the things. I asked if he could use some help."

"And I declined," the under butler answered quickly. "So nothing to worry about."

"But … _do_ you need help, Mr. Barrow?" Mr. Bates sounded wary, something which puzzled Elsie greatly.

"No, not really. I was having trouble with that one in the West Wing corridor, but now it's fine."

That reminded Elsie of a conversation from the other night. "Speaking of the West Wing, I've been meaning to ask one of you about that. Mr. Carson made it clear in a not-so-pleasant way that the area was not to be touched by either myself or Anna. But I don't understand. Surely you all aren't cleaning your rooms yourselves?"

"Our rooms?" Mr. Barrow asked with a snide laugh. "Oh, no … that's just Mr. Carson's domain." The rest of us are at the other end of the servants' corridor, about where you are." He paused for dramatic effect, then added, "Well, not _quite_ where you are, naturally, because you have the posh room. But our attic quarters are above yours on the eastern side."

"With the women?" Elsie glanced over at Mr. Bates with one eyebrow quirked.

"No," Mr. Bates explained with a smirk. "Dividing, locking door. Miss Baxter has the key, and under no circumstances is the door to be opened."

"Shouldn't _I_ have the key?" Elsie asked.

"Well, until recently, there wasn't a housekeeper to keep it," Mr. Barrow reminded her. "And someone had to keep those two apart," he added, tilting his head toward Mr. Bates.

"I see," Elsie said, wandering away from them a bit and heading for the grand staircase. "So he's up there all alone?" she mused, looking up and off to where Mr. Carson's rooms must be located.

The under butler cleared his throat. "The old goat prefers it that way, trust me. He won't even let me up there to service the clock in his room. And he's never going to allow _you_ up there, so don't even bother."

"But surely the area _outside_ of his room is open? I didn't even get around to putting it on a cleaning schedule yet, but …"

"He won't allow it," Mr. Bates said. "The corridor, perhaps, but never his private rooms."

Elsie turned to him. "Why not?" she asked plainly. "Is he hiding something up there?"

The looks on their faces were all she needed, and despite their denials to the contrary, Elsie knew she was right.

It took another hour, however, before she could lose them for good, feigning a headache and even going so far as to accept a powder from Mrs. Patmore.

Elsie climbed the stairs and stepped into her bedroom, placed the cup and saucer on her nightstand, swapped her shoes for her slippers (which would be quieter as she crept up the stairs), and headed directly back to the grand staircase to discover precisely what Mr. Carson had to hide.

Elsie's heart was thudding in her chest as she tiptoed down the corridors, thankful for the deep, plush carpeting that was helping to keep her trip a secret from the rest of the house. Mr. Carson had gone up an hour or so before, and she hoped fervently that he'd be fast asleep by now.

As she crested the final section of staircase at the far end of the corridor, the chill in the air made her shiver. A glance to the fireplace confirmed that it hadn't held a burning fire in a very long time, and she mused that the heat that made its way up from downstairs must be the only warmth these rooms get to see.

 _That, and sunlight,_ she realized belatedly as she noted the curtains were not drawn on the windows that faced the back of the property. The light from the moon was streaming in, casting a dark blue glow on the wall and mantle.

Elsie continued ahead, encouraged by the flicker peeking out from behind a door, a flicker of what must actually be a proper fire set within.

That meant she'd reached Mr. Carson's private rooms, however, which gave her pause. She truly didn't mean to snoop, yet she felt a burning need to solve this mystery once and for all. It had become clear to Elsie that there was something not right about Downton Abbey, but she still couldn't manage to put her finger on what it was that was different.

Elsie reached out, took a deep breath, and shoved the door open.

The sight which greeted her eyes was nothing short of shocking; for several seconds, she just stood open-mouthed in the doorway. But then her mind jolted into action again and she ducked around the inside of the door, closing it behind herself before moving further into the room. As she walked slowly forward, her eyes were drawn this way and that by the strange combination of items - none of which she expected to see in any rooms where Mr. Carson resided.

There was old, unused furniture piled up in one corner, covered with dust cloths that clearly hadn't been moved in years. Across from that, a coat stand lay askew against the wall, enveloped in cobwebs. The fire was burning low, so the room was significantly warmer than the corridor, but Elsie shivered nonetheless. She'd thought at first that she'd entered some sort of bedroom, but the door opposite where she stood indicated that it was more of a sitting room, and she assumed the butler must be sleeping in the second area instead.

The fire popped, drawing her attention, and she noticed a curtain hanging precariously from a nail high over the fireplace mantle. Elsie was drawn to it; as she approached, she noticed that there was a painting behind the cloth, and she reached out to pull the fabric aside.

It was a portrait, yet it had clearly been destroyed some time ago. Squinting, Elsie thought she could make out some sort of stain on it, and before she could change her mind, she reached up and fingered the loose canvas, smoothing it up a bit in order to make out the subjects themselves.

Her loud sigh fluttered the thin layer of dust on the mantle. She couldn't believe what she was seeing: having placed the bits of canvas back together, Elsie could now tell beyond the shadow of a doubt that the painting was of Mr. Carson, a much _younger_ Mr. Carson to be sure, and a young, black-haired woman … with a thin, gold ring on one of the fingers clasped in her lap. The ring had a small stone set in the middle – nothing extravagant – and Elsie knew immediately what it meant.

She tilted her head, examining the woman's features. She was comely, and while Mr. Carson appeared to be sternly standing beside her, there was a rigidity lacking in his countenance that Elsie didn't attribute solely to the artist's interpretation of his subjects. This was a younger man, and one who was a bit more carefree.

It made Elsie wonder why on earth Mr. Carson was still the butler of this massive estate when he'd clearly been betrothed to the woman in the portrait.

Elsie felt a tingle at the nape of her neck and reached back to brush at it, as if a strand of hair had come loose from her plait. There was nothing there, and her intuition made her turn around, examining the far end of the room.

It was then that she spied it - a soft, pink glow coming from a doorway she'd not noticed before.

She approached it as if in a dream, her hand outstretched; if asked to recall these moments at some point in the future, she'd have been hard-pressed to remember opening the door at all; it was as if it had done so of its own accord.

What she spied on the table before her gave her a couple of seconds' pause, and then she rushed over to it.

It was a rose, enclosed in a glass dome, and it was sparkling, glowing, _levitating_ …

… and, it seemed heartbreakingly obvious to Elsie, it appeared to be dying.

She lifted glass dome, pulling it away without disturbing the rose and placing it gently on the table beside something she identified in the back of her mind as a hand mirror. Her attention still on the flower, she reached out to touch it.

"What are you doing here?! I told you _never_ to come here!"

Mr. Carson's deep, bellowing voice made Elsie scream, and as she jumped away from the flower she was horrified to see the anger on his face as he reached for the dome, slammed it back down over the rose, and pulled the entire thing close to his chest.

"I didn't mean any harm -" she started, but he cut her off.

"Get out!"

Elsie stayed just long enough to see something glimmering behind the fury ablaze in his eyes, but then she turned away from him, ran back through the anteroom and down the stairs as fast as her feet would move. She fleetingly noted Mr. Barrow lurking in a doorway, and she almost knocked over Mr. Bates and Anna as she flew down the corridor, but she didn't slow at all. Her goal was suddenly, starkingly clear in her mind: _Get out,_ just as he'd said.

Just as he'd _shouted._

As she ran, Elsie's shock turned into fear, but then the anger and confusion muddled her mind. Her desire to know Mr. Carson's secrets was now a distant memory, shoved aside by her fear of the man's temper, her confusion about what, exactly, was going on at the Abbey, her curiosity about whether she'd be able to even leave the grounds at all, and the fact that she was here paying such a steep price for her Da's theft of a rose, yet was contemplating stealing a _horse_ at the moment.

 _It IS yours,_ she told herself.

 _It won't be anymore,_ the other part of her mind argued.

Nevertheless, Elsie made it to the stable, skidding a bit by the gate and realizing much too late that she had neither boots nor cloak for riding. She reached for the old riding cape hanging by the door, threw it over her shoulders, and saddled the horse.

"Here we are, Rebekah," she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest as she adjusted the saddle. "I hope you don't mind a ride."

Rebekah snorted as if to tell Elsie she didn't mind getting out of the stable one bit.

Elsie climbed up, pulled on the reins, and they were off.

She was barely cognizant of the trees they were speeding past, but suddenly Rebekah came to a halt, throwing an unsuspecting Elsie out of the saddle. She landed in a small, soft patch of grass with a thud, and as she managed to shake herself off and stand up, she figured out much too late the reason for the horse's behavior.

 _Dogs._ _ **Wild**_ _dogs._

Four of them, she saw -

 _No,_ she amended, _there are at least six._

One of the dogs howled, the rest were growling, and Elsie was terrified for her life. As they approached, Rebekah reared up and stomped down in front of Elsie to ward them off.

It was no use. One dog attacked, biting at Elsie's skirt. She kicked at it, but two more took its place. The horse reared again, then whimpered as one of the dogs nipped at its hoof.

Elsie struggled, hitting and kicking at one of the dogs while trying to keep her eye on the others. It was an impossible battle, though, and her fear-driven adrenaline was beginning to wane. She knew the dogs would sense weakness, but before she could retreat, she heard an explosion.

It was a gunshot, she realized a moment later, and she whipped around to see Mr. Carson standing behind them, up on a small ledge, the barrel of a gun pointed toward the sky.

"Run!" he shouted, but Elsie couldn't move. She was frozen in place as the dogs turned to their new target, forming a circle and approaching him.

"Shoot!" she tried to yell, but her voice came out only as a harsh whisper. She watched in horror as two of the dogs charged the butler.

To his credit, Mr. Carson put up an extraordinary fight. He hurled one of the dogs off of himself when it jumped on him, then turned and kicked one even as he dropped the revolver. Elsie was surprised by his agility, but try as she might she couldn't manage to _help_ the man.

After several seconds, it was strikingly clear that he was fighting a losing fight. One of the dogs who'd been resting up to this point charged him, its paws landing on the butler's broad chest and knocking him backwards. He fell to the ground with a loud _thud,_ sustained two bites to his arm, yet somehow managed to reach his leg out and kick the pistol …

… right towards Elsie.

She didn't hesitate; she bent down, picked up the gun, and shot at one of the dogs. It cried loudly and ran off - she'd missed - and after a third shot fired into the air, the others followed suit.

Elsie looked to where Mr. Carson stood.

"Go," he said, pointing off in the distance. "I release you."

And then, as Elsie watched in horror, he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

There was no way she could go.

Elsie rushed to his side, falling to her knees and reaching for his face, turning it so that she could verify that he was conscious and alive.

"Mr. Carson," she said steadily, "we need to get you up and onto the horse."

"She's not strong enough," he whispered. "It's no use; I cannot walk back on my own."

"She _is_ strong enough," Elsie argued. "I've just ridden her and felt her energy and strength myself. I grew up on a farm. I know you know these horses, but you must trust me. It's not that far."

She took him by the hand and pulled gently, returning to a standing position and encouraging him up slowly.

"There you are," she said, "nice and steady."

He squeezed her fingers and winced, and Elsie realized he'd been bitten on the leg as well as his arm.

"Here," she said, still holding onto him as he got into the saddle. "Slump down a bit and you won't have to worry for your balance."

The butler looked at her sharp, blue eyes as they sparkled in the moonlight, nodded, and did as she instructed.

He passed out just after the horse began the trek back to the castle, but Elsie took heart in the knowledge that they were all at least _alive_.

The walk was shorter than even Elsie anticipated, and as they approached the castle door she was grateful to see Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Barrow running down the pathway to meet them.

"I'll need a basin of hot water, some clean cloths, and some kind of salve," she said immediately to Mrs. Patmore, who nodded and ran back into the house to do as she'd been instructed, mentally adding things like _bandages_ and _scissors_ to the list.

"Can you help me get him off the horse?" Mr. Barrow asked, and Elsie nodded. Together they woke the butler, maneuvered him down, and encouraged him to lean heavily on his under butler as Elsie quickly coaxed Rebekah back to her stall and added some water and hay to her feeders.

"Bring him to the morning room," she called, and she saw Mr. Barrow nod. It was the closest place on the first floor and the fire was already going ... and Elsie's primary fear was that Mr. Carson would fall and injure himself further by trying to climb the stairs.

When she made it inside, she was pleased to see Mr. Carson seated in a chair by the blazing hearth and all of the items she required on a table beside him.

The staff - the _entire_ staff - were cowered in the corner, and Elsie recalled only then that the reason she'd been out on the grounds and attacked by dogs was because she and the butler had a very harsh, very _loud_ row that must have been heard by all.

"Please thank Daisy for the fire, Mrs. Patmore," she said aloud, and the cook nodded despite the fact that Elsie couldn't see her, for the housekeeper's gaze was locked on the man before her.

"You'll need to remove your jacket and shirt," she said matter-of-factly, and he grumbled, but complied. Elsie was sure she heard the word _propriety_ pass his lips, but she simply ignored it. She held the jacket, vest, and shirt out behind her, and Mr. Bates stepped forward to take them quickly from her hand before returning to the far side of the room.

Elsie examined the butler's wounds. "They're not as deep as I thought," she murmured, as she knelt down beside his chair and pulled a cloth from the pile. She dipped it in the hot water, wrung it out, and gently applied it to his cuts. "Hold still; it won't hurt."

He bellowed, and she jumped.

"Calm down, Mr. Carson," muttered, looking into his eyes. "I'm sure it stings, but best that you let me clean these now and not once they've begun to heal - with God knows what germs inside of them."

He looked at her raised eyebrows, furrowed his own, and grunted.

She dipped the cloth again and managed to wipe some of the dried blood from his arm.

"You came after me," she said quietly, so as to keep the others from hearing. "Why?"

He didn't answer, but she looked up and saw the hurt look in his eyes.

"I was ashamed," he said after a moment, and she tilted her head in acknowledgement and returned to her task.

They didn't speak again until she was finished cleaning the wounds she'd uncovered. He refused to let her touch the one on his thigh, though, claiming he'd do that one himself when he was alone. Elsie blushed a bit at that, but didn't argue.

"Well, thank you," she said as she was wrapping the bandage. "You saved my life."

He waited a moment, then said, "You … You came back. I mean …" His voice died away, but the question remained in his eyes.

She stared into them, debating, and then nodded, giving him a kind smile.

"I'm staying, Mr. Carson. After all, someone has to make sure _you_ rest and recuperate. And who else under this roof are you going to listen to?"

He chuckled. "Who, indeed?"

They remained quiet for a moment, and then he added, "I believe you've met the obligation of paying for the rose and the food. If you don't want to stay, I'll understand. I'm sure you'd rather be home with your father."

Elsie bit down on her lip. Her mind was a flurry of images: broken gate at the farm, the ever-thinning pile of coins in the sack hidden in the floorboards, her Da's face the last time he'd headed out to the market, and the horrible scene in the stable when she'd arrived.

"What if I stay on for a bit, for a nominal wage?" It took every ounce of her courage to ask the question, every bit of pride now gone. The tax deadline was approaching, and she knew there was no way they'd have enough … not this year.

Charles felt his heart surge with hope. "I'm sure we could work something out, Mrs. Hughes."

Only then did Elsie remember the real reason she'd fled tonight, the strange world in which the Abbey seemed to be enveloped. "I'd send it all home to my Da, of course. Can that be arranged?"

Charles thought for a moment, and he had an idea. "I think I can find a way, Mrs. Hughes. If you'll trust me."

She looked into his dark eyes. "I think I can, Mr. Carson. Thank you."

Both the housekeeper and the butler had completely forgotten about the others in the room. Mrs. Patmore, who'd managed to hear the tail end of the conversation, turned to her companions, practically giddy.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered gleefully. "She's staying, and he's _happy_ about it."

"She just may be the one," Mr. Molesley murmured. "Now wouldn't that be remarkable?

* * *

 **We'd love a l'il review to hear what you think! x**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks to all of you for the fantastic, supportive reviews and messages. We really appreciate it! Shout-outs to our dear friends dameofdownstairs for the incredible cover artwork and girl-loves-cake for her help with all things proofreading and timeline-related. xxx**

* * *

Elsie stepped out of the back door and took a deep breath. The cold wind caressed her face and the crisp air filled her lungs, causing her to close her eyes to relish the briskness of it all. Some days, she felt as if she never took a deep breath, felt the warmth of the sun upon her skin, or had a moment of peace to simply be.

Her work at the Abbey had been filled with countless tasks and lists. Just when she thought one area was completed, something else would catch her eye and demand her attention, then she'd be off on another errand, one more room to oversee, another thing to add to her growing checklist. The house was incredibly large and by the time she'd made her way through it all, clearing away every speck of dust or lint imaginable, it was time to start at the top of the list once more.

She had settled in nicely, though, and while she missed her father terribly, she found she was crying less and laughing more. Mrs. Patmore made certain of that, whether the red-faced cook realized it or not. Her sharp wit and sarcastic barbs made Elsie giggle, though never in front of Mr. Carson or the other servants. Heavens, she could only imagine the stern look upon his face if he ever caught wind of that. And Daisy, poor lass, she was so naïve at times, yet so innocent and willing to learn. Anna and Phyllis were sweet, in their own way, though she would be the first to admit that she had a soft spot for Anna. The girl, and her adoration of Mr. Bates, made Elsie pause and wonder what it would have been like to have had a daughter in her younger days. Thomas was still somewhat of a puzzle to her. She wanted to like him, goodness knows she did, but there was always something lurking and bubbling just beneath the surface that gave her a moment's pause. She could see a little bit of Joe in Thomas, just a little … and only if she looked really hard.

Thinking of Joe caused her mind to turn down a dark path. She shuddered as she wondered what was happening with the situation on the farm and her father. She could only imagine what Joe and Jos had thought when Colin returned with news that Elsie would not be returning to the village for some time. Briefly, she wondered if rumors were being spread about her character and her sudden disappearance. It wouldn't be the first time a daughter had been sent away to spare the family from gossip and shame. She pushed those thoughts from her mind quickly. The villagers knew her, knew her reputation, and she trusted them to put their faith in her father and not some arrogant bully and his sidekick.

"Planning to air out the house from the basement upwards, Mrs. Hughes?"

Elsie spun around and was suddenly face to face with Mr. Carson. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she'd never heard him approach. Slightly embarrassed at being caught, she gave a small smile and a nod of her head, thankful that the cold air could be attributed to the color in her cheeks instead of her blush. "Not today, Mr. Carson. I thought we might save that for a really chilly day," she quipped with a smile. "I was simply taking a moment for myself to clear my head of some cobwebs."

"Ah, meticulous in all areas of life, I see." He paused, sensing there was more to her story than simply muddled thoughts she deemed no more important than a cobweb. "I hope you've not run across some issue with the running of the house," he suggested, his impressive eyebrow raised and a look of concern playing out in his eyes.

"Nothing like that, no. Do you have a moment?" she asked without any real consideration for what she was thinking.

He gave her a slight nod, then took a few steps back to allow her to enter her parlour first. She stepped across the threshold, her arm briefly brushing his as she passed by, and he would swear he caught the faintest hint of vanilla on the air, something that brought a smile to his face, though a very small one.

"Please, sit," she offered, indicating the chair closest to the door. He did as she asked, feeling rather unsettled at her mood and the atmosphere surrounding them. If she tried to plead her way out of their bargain, he wasn't entirely sure he could put up much resistance. He had grown to appreciate her and value her opinion. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know … purely from an employment standpoint, of course, should anyone like Mrs. Patmore ask … again!

"You seem rather serious. I hope nothing has happened to upset you. If Mr. Barrow has said or done something, you must tell me these things so I can put an end to them immediately. He has always been a bit of a thorn in my side." He inwardly cringed as an image of two roses popped into his mind, one cursing him to this life and another binding another to this house in an entirely different way.

She smiled softly. "Mr. Barrow can be difficult, though not entirely unpleasant. Still, best to keep an eye on him and keep his hands busy so he can't get into much mischief." She sat down in the chair on the other side of the small table that separated them and began fiddling mindlessly with the edges of the lace covering.

"I don't really know why I asked you in here, to be honest," she finally admitted after a few moments of silence. "I was thinking of home, you see, and I suppose I was stuck with a bit of homesickness."

"Missing your beau, I suppose," he said a little more harshly than he had intended. When she had first arrived, Charles had wondered why someone like her was still living with her father. The old man had seemed genuinely concerned for his daughter, willing to sacrifice the rest of his days for hers, and she had readily done the same for him. It was easy to see that she had an excellent work ethic but nothing about her seemed to indicate she had a harsh home life, quite the contrary.

Elsie's eyes widened and she looked up sharply. "No, no beau, though there was a farmer in the village who wanted to marry me." She felt an odd sense of pride in saying that, though when she truly thought of the prospect of marrying Joe Burns, her stomach gave a lurch. "We were most certainly not walking out when I took this job at Downton. He'd asked me to marry him but …"

"He was horrible, fat, and red-faced, and you couldn't see anything appealing about that at all," he said, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Let's just say he isn't a nice man. All the young, available girls in the village seemed to think him quite the catch, though I was the exception to that rule and it bothered him. I had no interest in becoming his little wife, bearing his children, and working the land so he could spend free evenings at the local pub."

Charles sat a little straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. "And you … you find _this_ more appealing?" The hesitancy in his voice caused Elsie to look up into his eyes now filled with compassion and perhaps concern.

She gave him a quick but firm nod of her head in reply. "I do, actually. I'm enjoying the work I'm doing, enjoying getting to know the people, too. My days are filled with purpose, and I like to think I'm making friends. While the reason I am here is not the most pleasant of beginnings, I am making the best of the situation at hand, and I hope you're pleased, too." Quickly, she darted her eyes back to her hands which were folded in her lap. "I fear I'm not that farm girl I once was, Mr. Carson. Perhaps you were right to question that."

"Life's altered you, as it's altered me. And what would be the point of living if we didn't let life change us? And in answer to your question, of course I am pleased with your work, Mrs. Hughes. I can honestly say that I don't know how this house would run without you. You've been here only a short time, yet you've still managed to take control and bring things back up to standard, for which I am grateful. I take it you aren't considering leaving, then, breaking our agreement?" He was seconds away from telling her he hoped she would consider staying on after the debt of the rose was paid but he was spared that humiliation by a knock on the door.

"Mrs. Hughes, you'd better come quickly! Mrs. Patmore is going on and on about not having control of the store cupboard key," Anna said softly. "I think I even heard her referring to you as Mary, Queen of Scots," she said with a slight giggle.

"Leaving, Mr. Carson? When would I ever find the time? There's still so much to be done around here. I can't leave now." She took a deep breath and pushed back her shoulders, ready to explain, once again to Mrs. Patmore, why she would not be getting the key to the coveted cupboard, not today nor anytime soon.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

With the days growing shorter and the nights getting colder, winter was beginning to settle in quickly and nicely. However, this particular evening there were ominous clouds overhead that heralded a massive storm was brewing for the evening. Already, the rain was coming down in a heavy sheets which pelted the windowpanes. Elsie was grateful she had mentioned the brewing storm to Mr. Carson earlier in the day, and he'd taken her advice about bringing in more wood for the stoves and provisions for the kitchens to spare the footmen being soaked and chilled to the bone.

"I thought this might tide you over until …" Elsie gasped as she watched Mr. Carson slowly rise from his chair as she entered his pantry only to sway unsteadily on his feet. "Whatever's the matter?" she asked, concern laced into her every word as she crossed quickly to his side.

"I'll be fine, if I can only sit still for a moment." His voice was weak, lacking the commanding tone he so often had when addressing a member of the staff.

"You'll do no such thing. You should get to bed this instant! I'll send for the doctor …"

"NO! You can't! I mean, that is to say with the storm looming outside, we can't take the chance of him getting stranded out here when there might be others who need him more. I'll be fine if I can just get to my room and lie down for a bit."

Elsie wasn't convinced, but she could see the point about the doctor. They were far removed from everyone else, and if the storm was as bad as she expected it would be dangerous for someone to be out in it, especially in this remote part of the woods. "Very well, but you'll stay there until I'm convinced you're well enough to return to your duties," she said rather sternly, grabbing him gently by the arm and helping him to stand.

His knees felt weak, and he leaned into her side as much as he dared to for support. Under normal circumstances, he would have been mortified with his behavior and lack of control, but he freely admitted that it was nice to have someone taking care of him for a change. He took a small amount of comfort that she was not going to abandon him, leave him to his sick bed, and allow him to push himself beyond his current limitations. "Get Mr. Molesley to help with the table settings tonight. Just because I'm ill is no reason to let standards slip," he said before a coughing fit overtook him.

"Leave that to me. We need to get you into bed, and then I'll see about asking Mrs. Patmore for some warm broth and hot tea for you." She considered, briefly, taking him to his own rooms where he would be most comfortable, but she quickly brushed aside that thought. He would most likely not appreciate her presence, or the presence of others, in his private space. Fully aware that he would protest, though having little say in the matter, she helped him up the stairs and into the Blue Room, which had just been given a thorough cleaning earlier that day.

Once he was changed into his pyjamas and settled into the large bed, Elsie slipped back into the room. The tall, imposing butler of Downton Abbey was most certainly unwell. When he wasn't coughing loudly, he was wheezing trying to catch his breath. Already, his brow was soaked with sweat from his high fever, and Elsie worried that she might not be capable of nursing him through his sickness. Assured that he was at least sleeping, she slipped back downstairs to inquire about chicken broth, some fresh flannels, and to alert the staff that there was sickness in the household. Mrs. Patmore readily agreed to prepare a hot chicken broth for Mr. Carson, and with permission from Elsie, she tossed in a few vegetables to make a nice stew for the rest of the staff.

Once the housekeeper was satisfied that dinner was sorted, she began directing the others on what she needed done. Everyone had an assigned task, while she made her way back up the staircases to check on Mr. Carson.

With a glass of warm milk and cinnamon, a concoction her father had always given her when she was ill, Elsie tiptoed into his bedroom, gently closing the door behind her. She gazed upon the man in the bed – larger than the ones used by servants and which made him look slightly more frail, in her humble opinion - and suddenly felt an overwhelming need to care for him, to nurse him back to health, to hear that booming voice in the hallway giving orders and directing the staff. She noted how his brow was furrowed, as if he was worried about something important even in his sleep, how his lips seemed parched, no doubt from the fever, and how a small curl of wavy black and silver hair had slipped onto his forehead. For a moment, she could easily imagine Mr. Carson as a young lad running about the fields near Downton Abbey, exploring the world as inquisitive lads are wont to do. But she was soon snapped from her daydream by his loud and abrupt coughing.

"Mr. Carson," she said gently as she neared the bed and took a seat in the nearby chair. When he opened his bleary eyes, she smiled. "Here, drink this," she suggested, offering him the glass, "it will help you feel better."

Despite the fever and how horrible he truly felt, he quirked an impressive eyebrow at her as if to question the validity of her statement. "What is this?" He looked down into the glass and back to Elsie, his nose crinkled in disgust. "I thought sick people were given water."

Despite the gravelly sound of his voice, she could easily tell he was teasing her a little. "And you will be … at dinner, with your broth. This is something my Da gives me when I'm sick. Cinnamon and milk. The milk is good for you since it gives you some energy and something serious for your body to work with against the nasty cold."

"And the cinnamon? My mother always used to mix it with honey, not milk."

"I'm sure many people use that, but milk always made it taste better and the liquid soothed my throat. Of course, if you'd rather cough your head off and remain thirsty until dinner, don't let me stop you, Mr. Carson."

He pursed his lips and stared down into the glass once more before taking a tentative sip. "Hmm, not half bad," he commented before taking another, much longer drink.

She waited patiently until the glass was half empty before reaching out her hand to touch his forehead. "You still have a fever. Your forehead feels warmer than it did earlier this morning." She turned and poured some water into the bowl and wet a flannel, gently folding it, and placing it on his brow. "That should help a little. I'll bring fresh water up for the wash basin when I come up to check on you later. But for now, keep that on your head or around your neck, finish that milk, and take another nap."

"I don't have time to lounge about all day, Mrs. Hughes. There are things that need overseeing."

"And you don't think I'm capable of running this household while you're sick, Mr. Carson? Is that it?"

"That's not what I said." Another, harsher, coughing fit overtook him, leaving him gasping for breath for a moment. "I simply meant to imply that I should be able to pull my own weight."

"The way I see it, Mr. Carson, we are a team. And when one member of this team is ill or not up to his or her best, the other must step in to assist. That's all I'm offering to do … merely assist, give gentle guidance to your footmen and my maids. And for now, I seem to be the stronger member of this team, and I'm telling you not to put one foot out of that bed unless it's for a good reason. Understood?"

He gave her a disgruntled look and reluctantly nodded, truly not up to the task of matching wits with this formidable woman who was slowly punching holes in his hardened wall of a heart. Still, he reminded himself, it wouldn't do to get too close to her. She was only here out of obligation. Once that debt was paid, she would be leaving on the first horse she could find, most likely Rebekah, and who could blame her? He drifted back into a fitful sleep rife with images from his past and even a few from his present.

When Elsie returned hours later, she was startled to find Mr. Carson mumbling in his sleep, his body racked with a high fever, clothes drenched in sweat. She couldn't quite make out what he was saying but she distinctly heard the names of Alice and Mary, causing her to wonder if perhaps those were the names of his mother and an old sweetheart, a favorite aunt, or a grandmother, even.

"Sssssh, Mr. Carson. Rest easy," she said soothingly, placing a cool cloth on his forehead and watching his face as he instantly relaxed.

The snow had, as Elsie had predicted, started to fall heavily, so any chance of obtaining a doctor was lost now. Sending a hall boy or footman out into this weather would be cruel, not to mention the lad wouldn't be guaranteed to make it back before the roads were impassable, and that was something she couldn't risk. Yet there was no way she could leave Mr. Carson on his own. His fever was dangerously high, and he hadn't eaten a bite since breakfast much earlier that day. With her decision made, she called for one of the hall boys to sit with Mr. Carson until she could return.

"Ah, Anna, there you are," Elsie called out as she neared the last step on the staircase. "I'm going to need your help. Please find a blanket and a pillow and have one of the lads take it to the Blue Room where Mr. Carson is resting. He's not doing well at all, and I think it would be best if I sat with him during the night in case his fever spikes. Have Mrs. Patmore send up some soup, please, or whatever the staff is having for their dinner. I doubt Mr. Carson will be eating tonight, but I'll need something to get me through until morning. Oh, and if anyone else shows signs of sickness, they're to go straight to bed immediately, and I need to be informed. The last thing we need is for the entire household to get sick."

"Right away, Mrs. Hughes. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Not at the moment, but if you and Miss Baxter wouldn't mind keeping an eye on the others for me that would be most appreciated."

"We'll see to it, and I'll let Mrs. Patmore know about Mr. Carson. I'll send Mr. Molesley up with some tea for you in a bit."

"Bless you, Anna." She gave the girl a warm smile laced with deep appreciation before heading back up the dreaded staircases where the winter chill was starting to settle in and Mr. Carson's fever raged long into the night.

For the next two days, Elsie rarely left Mr. Carson's side. His fever remained high, his coughs sounded worse with each passing day, and sometimes he would randomly talk to or about people she'd never heard of. The rest of the staff were all doing their best to keep the household running smoothly, taking on extra duties if someone fell ill, lending a helping hand where needed. Overall, Elsie was pleased with the cooperation she was witnessing. She was certain that Mr. Carson would be pleased, too, and she continued to talk to him, giving him updates in the hopes of rousing him from his hazy slumber, if for no other reason than to offer her some sign, some comfort that all would be well.

She was well into her third night of sleeping in a chair by his beside when she woke to the sounds of him shifting in bed. She had grown accustomed to repositioning the blankets over him as he kicked them off in the middle of the night, but she was not expecting to see his brown eyes staring back at her.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said, his voice raw and thick. "Might I have water, please?"

"Of course!" She tossed the blanket from her lap and poured him a small measure of water, holding it to his lips as he began to drink. "Easy now. Don't want to overdo it. You can have more, but slowly." Once he'd drained the glass, she helped him as he tried to sit up a bit. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible, to tell the truth. How long have I been asleep?"

She felt his forehead, very pleased to note that his fever was gone. "Two full days. This is my third night here. I'll admit you had me very worried. You've had us all worried, Mr. Carson."

"You shouldn't have stayed. One of the footmen could have sat with me during the night. Surely, you need your rest, too."

"I have everything under control. Trust me. Everyone has been very kind, pitched in where they could, and kept it all up to your standards. We've quite a few others who are sick, but none as badly as you. I'm happy to see you're turning the corner." She handed him another glass of water. "Drink this while I fetch Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley. They can help you change into fresh pyjamas while I put fresh linens on the bed. Then, it's back to sleep with you until morning."

Her hand was on the doorknob when his soft voice caused her to turn. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I … I appreciate everything you've done. Not just for me, but for the others and this household in general."

"All in a day's work, Mr. Carson." She smiled at him and gave a slight nod to the glass in his hand. "Drink up, and we'll see about making you more comfortable." She closed the door behind her, leaning against it and offering up a silent prayer of thanks for his broken fever and his appreciative words.

Slowly but steadily, Mr. Carson continued to improve. At times, he would be grateful for Mrs. Hughes's company, her fussing over him and making sure he was eating and drinking enough. At other times, he wanted nothing more than to slip out of the confines of the room, head downstairs, and hide away in his pantry for a few hours. Unfortunately, one trip a few paces away to the loo was enough to convince him of the foolishness of that plan. Sensing his restlessness, Elsie knew she had to do something to distract him.

"I've brought you something," she said, entering the grand room with barely a cursory knock.

"I hope it's not more of that blasted milk and cinnamon. I think I'd like a proper cup of tea or coffee, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

She huffed and shook her head. "It is not cinnamon and milk, though you should be grateful, if it were. That was the last thing of any substance you put on your stomach before you became seriously ill."

He raised his eyebrows. "And that is supposed to be a glowing recommendation? Drink this! It's guaranteed to make you feel worse and leave you weakened for days afterwards."

"Mr. Carson, there's no use getting testy with me. I know you're bored in here all alone, and I'm only trying to help. Would you prefer it if I sent Mr. Barrow in to keep you company for a change? Or perhaps Mr. Molesley? He's sure to have a dozen or so tales to keep you entertained. I managed to catch the end of a story he was telling the others … something about a cricket match and the perfect way to swing the bat. Perhaps he'd share it with you, if we asked nicely."

"No, please. I'm sorry," he said with all seriousness. "But there's nothing to do but stare at the walls or sleep. Do you think you could bring up my ledgers? I could work on those for a bit, then take a break when I'm tired."

"You're hardly able to hold up your head, still, much less work on figures. You'll ruin your books with sloppy handwriting and poor math. But, I did bring you something I think you'll enjoy."

"And what might that be," he grumbled.

"Well, I went into your pantry to look for some papers I needed to pay an invoice, and I happened to notice this book sitting on your desk. I thought you might enjoy reading it, though perhaps I was mistaken."

His eye brightened at the thought of the book. He'd meant to start reading it on the night he fell ill. He'd never even managed to open it to the first page. "No, you're not mistaken at all. I had planned to read it. It's a newer version of the old tale, I believe."

Mrs. Hughes looked down at the book in her hand and laughed. "I never would have taken you for a reader of romance stories, Mr. Carson, but you do surprise me."

He blushed and blustered, completely caught off guard by her comment. "Nonsense! That's not a romance book. It's about King Arthur and his knights, his conquests on the battlefield, Sir Gawaine, Merlin, Lancelot, and all the others."

She gave him a coy smile and tapped the top of the book. "Let's not forget about Lady Guinevere and her affair with the good knight." She offered him the book but frowned when he refused to accept it. "Oh come now. Don't be cross with me over a little teasing. I thought you'd be thrilled to have something to occupy your time."

"I am not cross," he answered harshly. "I'm simply tired. Besides, I'm sure it's a silly book, and I should have chosen something else for my bedtime reading." He folded his arms much like a petulant child and stared into the blue eyes of the woman who had barely left his side for days.

"Well, then, if you're going to be cross, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I borrow it? It's been ages since I've had something to read, something as new and exciting as this."

"Suit yourself." A troubled silence fell upon them, and Elsie was certainly not going to leave things as they were, especially knowing he would only sit and brood on the matter.

"Very well, then. I think I will," she said with an air of authority. "Thank you for the loan of the book, Mr. Carson." She immediately settled herself into the familiar armchair beside Mr. Carson's bed, pulled the blanket across her lap to keep her warm, and opened the book … before beginning to read it aloud.

By the time she had completed the first chapter, Mr. Carson was well and truly hooked on the story and entranced by the lovely and caring woman who dared to share it with him, dared to push through his mood and lift his spirits. When dinner arrived, he was dismayed that she wasn't going to be eating with him that evening, continuing their discussion on the book, or keeping him company.

"Don't worry, Mr. Carson. I am simply going to eat dinner with the staff, let them know we're still here and in charge. I'll come back later, and we can read another chapter in the story. After all, we simply must find out what happens to that sword trapped in the stone."

"Yes, whatever will become of the grunt of a boy and that tricky sword?" he said, chuckling a bit for the first time.

"I'll see you later then, Mr. Carson. One of the lads will be up soon with your dinner. I expect to see a clean plate or they'll be no bedtime story for you this evening," she teased, letting the door close gently behind her.

She would never see the broad smile that graced his face. Likewise, he would never be privy to the blush that crept into her cheeks as she made her way downstairs and to their staff.

 _tbc_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Mrs. Patmore was a keen observer of Mr. Carson and had learned, better than anyone in the household, how to interpret his moods and prepare accordingly. However, lately, he was much harder for her to read, his actions and thoughts seemingly hidden to her behind a thin veil that she could never quite breach. It didn't unnerve her, especially since he had mellowed somewhat with the arrival of Mrs. Hughes. But, since breakfast, he had been pacing the hallway just outside of her kitchen and the tapping of his shoes on the stone floor and the frequent sighing were starting to test her patience.

"You'll wear a trench in the hallway if you make one more pass by this kitchen door," she practically yelled at him. "If you need something, you'd do better to ask than to loiter in the hallways, setting a bad example for the lads."

He was surprised at her impertinence but did not offer a rebuttal; he merely stepped into her kitchen, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. His mind was troubled, and he had no one in whom he would truly confide. He wasn't even sure he wanted to share his thoughts with Mrs. Patmore, but at least she was a welcomed distraction from his rambling musings.

"Daisy, go and fetch the eggs and butter from the meat safe … and, for once, don't be quick about it!"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore," she said, scurrying away, thankful for the break from her mundane work and for the chance to get outside for some fresh air.

When they were both certain Daisy was well on her way, Mrs. Patmore turned to Mr. Carson and pointed her wooden spoon firmly at him. "Out with it! What's got you so worked up? You could've walked to Thirsk and back with the amount of steps you've taken in this hallway since breakfast!"

"I'm merely making sure that everything is running smoothly, Mrs. Patmore. The lads need to be reminded that I'm back on my feet again and that they are expected to keep up with the daily tasks I've assigned them."

"Oh yes! And we all know that Mrs. Hughes let the standards of this household slip into the depths of despair while you were upstairs with that nasty flu," she countered sarcastically. "You and I both know that she took over the running of this house seamlessly, and there were no problems. She was so vigilant, she even managed to retain control over the blasted cupboard key," the cook grumbled.

"I meant no disrespect to Mrs. Hughes, I assure you. I'm sure everyone did their part and for that, I'm grateful."

"Then, what's all that rubbish about keeping the footmen on their toes? You know they have more than enough to keep them busy. And if there was any doubt, just remember that Mrs. Hughes has some of them helping her maids with some of the cleaning that they can't do … the higher things involving ladders and such."

"Yes, I know. She consulted with me before enlisting their help. She wanted to make certain it wouldn't be an issue."

He paused and reflected for a moment on that quiet conversation in his pantry. She had been incredibly polite, explaining the precarious nature of some of the areas her maids needed to clean and the state of the uneven ladders. She had asked for his assistance rather than just presuming to dictate the duties of his footmen. He appreciated that consideration, and just the memory of it put a small smile on his face. Mrs. Bute would simply have given his footmen new orders and dealt with the consequences later.

"Something amusing you, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Patmore's voice broke through the memory causing him to sputter a bit, flustered at having been caught thinking about the housekeeper. "If I didn't know better …"

"Well, you do, so that's an end to that line of thinking, Mrs. Patmore." He tugged on the end of his waistcoat and cleared his throat. "I was merely wondering … well, not so much wondering as pondering … "

"Mr. Carson! Daisy will be back sooner rather than later, so if you have something you need to say, I suggest you get to the heart of it before Christmas."

He lowered his eyebrows and pursed his lips, making him look more disgruntled than he was in truth. "Mrs. Hughes took excellent care of me when I was ill, above and beyond her duties here as housekeeper. I have been trying to think of something kind to do in return as a sort of thank you. But every time I think of something, it smacks of impropriety, of overstepping the boundaries of butler and housekeeper. So, I'm left at a bit of a loose end, as it were."

She dried her hands on the dish towel and tossed it to the table, placing her hands firmly on either side of a large mixing bowl and leaning over as much as she could. The last thing she wanted was for someone to overhear her words and misconstrue them into something more that would set the household on its end.

"Mr. Carson, all women need someone to show a bit of interest every now and then, preferably in a manner that's not entirely proper." She watched with amusement as his eyes widened and his cheeks reddened, but before he could chastise her, she continued. "And knowing you as I do, I will say that I'm sure anything you think of will be most respectful, and if I may be so bold, very much appreciated by Mrs. Hughes. You know, she wouldn't let anyone else take care of you while you were sick. She said it fell upon her shoulders as housekeeper to oversee the well-being of everyone in the household, but I think it was more than that. She was genuinely concerned for you."

"She is my colleague, Mrs. Patmore. I'm sure she would have done the same for anyone else in the house."

"Ah, but you're mistaken. There were several in this house who were sick. She checked on them, yes, but delegated their care to others. Yours … that was an entirely different matter." She sighed and picked up the spoon, stirring the batter once more as she waited for Daisy to return with the eggs. "Still, I'm sure whatever you decide to do will be much appreciated. She doesn't ask for much around here, you know."

He was just about to ask one more question when Daisy returned, gently cradling a dozen eggs in her apron and carrying the butter tray. "Here you are, Mrs. Patmore. Awfully cold outside, but the sky is so blue," she rattled on as Charles slipped quietly from the kitchen and back to his pantry, shutting the door softly but firmly behind him. He had much to think about before lunch.

Sitting at his desk, Charles pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer and uncapped his favorite pen. Lists. He always started a large task by making a list of everything that it would entail, then organizing the rest of the details accordingly. His dilemma on a suitable way to thank Mrs. Hughes would be no exception. He was sure that by putting pen to paper and getting the jumbled thoughts from his head, he would be able to think clearly, come up with some subtle way of thanking her for her kindness. But, he was so lost in his own list making that he barely heard the knock on his pantry door.

"Mr. Carson? Are you all right?" Elsie eased open the door, fearful that she might find him slumped over his desk, having suffered a relapse of his illness.

"Quite well," he said abruptly as he quickly shifted a blank sheet of paper over the list he'd been making. "Why do you ask?"

"It's tea time, and we are all waiting on you. If you're busy, I will simply inform the staff, and I'll bring something in for you later."

He waived his hands and rose from his chair. "Not necessary, Mrs. Hughes. I was merely engrossed in some important paperwork and lost track of time. Thank you for coming to find me. I would hate to set a bad example for the younger staff."

"I'm sure they'd never think that," she countered sweetly. "Oh, and I am returning this," she said softly, handing him back to the copy of the tales of King Arthur and his knights. "I finished it last night and meant to return it after breakfast but I was busy with the maids in the upstairs rooms."

"You only just borrowed it," he said in disbelief. "Have you truly finished it already?"

She slowly nodded her head. "It's a very good story, and I enjoyed it very much. If I may be so bold to ask … if you have other books you think I might enjoy, I would greatly appreciate the loan of them. Reading is something of an interest of mine. I used to visit the bookshop back at the village nearly every day. I think the owner was the only one who might have understood my need for books and learning."

He rounded the corner of his desk and stretched out his arm in invitation for her to lead the way out of his office. "Then, I dare say, he was a very lucky man, Mrs. Hughes." He offered her a small smile as they joined the rest of the others for lunch where all thoughts of grand gestures and plans faded away leaving only one at the forefront of his mind … the library.

As soon as everyone had finished the meal, Charles excused himself and made his way through the corridors and doorways, not stopping until he'd reached the East Wing. He walked swiftly past all of the non-library spaces, pushing aside recollections of the family laughing at a party, of music streaming from this room or that, a light, tinkling laugh or a sharp barb from the Queen Mother. This section of the house was attached to so many memories, many of which only highlighted everything that was missing from the home he held so dear, and so Charles tried very hard to focus on the two reasons he was here: the library and Mrs. Hughes.

The great oak door creaked loudly, something he'd meant to take care of the last time he was in the library and simply forgotten. That had been before he'd fallen ill, though, so a great many things had happened since then to keep his mind occupied. Still, he would see that the hinges were oiled. Pulling a small bit of paper from his pocket along with a pen, he began to make notes on things that needed seeing to before he would be able to proceed with his plan.

After an hour of surveying the library with a very critical eye, he felt relatively confident that the room could be ready in a few days, given that he would divert his footmen from other jobs to this one which now seemed the most important in the household.

If the housekeeper suspected anything out of the ordinary with the work being done by the footmen, she never mentioned it. Occasionally, and without her knowledge, Anna and a few of the other maids would be enlisted to help, especially with the dusting and plumping up the pillows or airing out the room. Charles devoted every spare minute to overseeing the project, wanting it to be absolutely pristine when the time came for him to share his work.

Finally, that day came, though not without a great deal of trepidation on his part. He secretly worried that Mrs. Hughes would not take kindly to the gesture, or that it might give the wrong impression to others in the household … or that she might be cross with him for giving her charges extra work. But Mrs. Patmore had reassured him more than once that the housekeeper wouldn't be any of those things. In fact, the cook was confident that the grand gesture would go a long way towards firming up their friendship and would be a truly kind token of appreciation on his part for the care that Mrs. Hughes had shown him. But it was his last request that had started the cook speechless. Never, in all her years of knowing him, would she have guessed that he might ask a personal favor from her. And yet, here she was, silently preparing something special on his behalf.

A swift knock on Elsie's sitting room door drew her attention away from her ledgers. She'd heard his familiar footsteps stop just outside of her door, but that had been several minutes ago. She'd wondered if, perhaps, she had imagined it, but apparently not given the man was standing in her doorway.

"Might I come in, Mrs. Hughes? If you're busy, of course, I can come back."

"Nonsense, Mr. Carson. I was merely going over the ledgers and trying to make some sense out of all of the numbers. I was hoping you might be able to better explain Mrs. Bute's system since some of this makes no logical sense at all."

He chuckled at that. "Yes, she did have her own way of doing things, I'll admit. I will do my best to answer any questions you may have, though I cannot claim to be an expert in her books. We rarely conferred on those things or compared notes. It might be best if you simply started your own."

She nodded. "I may just do that, if you've no objections. It would make it easier for me to keep track of everything and would certainly simplify a great many details."

"You should feel free to do what you feel is best, Mrs. Hughes. You've more than proven you are highly capable of the running of this house and the estate. We, every one of us under this roof, owe you a great debt … myself included."

She blushed a little at his compliment. "Nonsense, Mr. Carson. I am no better than anyone else. I'm doing my job and trying to do it well. That's all."

He tugged nervously on his waist coat and smoothed the pocket down on his left side before clenching his hand into a fist. "Yes, well, your efforts have not gone unappreciated, I assure you. In fact, that is one reason why I am here."

"Yes?" Her curiosity was now piqued, especially given how unsettled Mr. Carson seemed to be. It was very unlike him.

"You see, you have helped me tremendously, both professionally and personally, when I was ill. I would like to repay that kindness by inviting you to dinner this evening."

She shook her head and smiled. "We eat all of our meals together, Mr. Carson. I had planned on being at dinner this evening, as well." She couldn't fathom why he felt the need to personally invite her to a meal that they shared every single night, along with all of the rest of the staff.

"No, you misunderstand me. I am, in my own awkward way, I suppose, trying to invite you to dine with me, just me, this evening. I thought, if you'd be agreeable, we might use the upstairs dining room. It would allow us an opportunity to discuss a great many things … work, books, more about your life in the village," he said, his mouth feeling dry and in desperate need of a glass of water.

Elsie's eyes grew wide, and she instinctively drew her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it slightly before answering. "I would be honored to join you, Mr. Carson. I appreciate the invitation. What time shall I be ready, and where shall I meet you?"

His heart leapt into his throat at his good fortune. "Why don't I meet you here around seven? That should give Mrs. Patmore time to complete the meal preparations for the rest of the staff. I'll be responsible for serving our dinner, unless you would prefer …"

"No, that would be lovely, Mr. Carson. I look forward to our dinner this evening, the pleasant company, and the wonderful conversation."

Unaccustomed to flattery, Mr. Carson cleared his throat and nodded. "I shall see you soon, then," he said before seeking solace in the quiet of his own pantry to gather his thoughts.

 _Maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance that his housekeeper could bring order and meaning to more than just the household._

For the remainder of the afternoon, Mrs. Hughes tried to focus on her work but had difficulty concentrating. When Mrs. Patmore brought a cup of tea and a few biscuits in to share, she was grateful for the reprieve from her thoughts.

"So, you said yes to him, then?" The cook wasted no time broaching the subject that was on both of their minds. "He asked me to prepare something nice for your dinner, but I'll admit, the man was more than a little nervous to ask you."

"For heavens sake, why? Granted, it's unusual for us to eat separately, but it will do us some good to be able to have a lengthy conversation about household matters without worrying we'll be interrupted. Goodness knows that happens enough already. It's a miracle he was able to issue the invitation without someone barging in and needing something."

Mrs. Patmore clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. "You can't be serious! Do you think that wasn't planned, as well? He had me standing in the kitchen doorway in case someone did try to interrupt. He thought of everything, Mrs. Hughes, down to the very last detail. He's not one to do things by halves. Surely, you've recognized that trait in him by now."

"Oh, I have, Mrs. Patmore. I just never assumed it would apply to something affecting me," she admitted, her voice soft and her eyes clearly showing her surprise. "So, you've been in on this from the beginning then, this … dinner?"

"Not the very beginning, no. He asked me about preparing something nice. I agreed. He asked me to have it ready at a certain time, and that was that. I may have known him longer, but I dare say you already know him better. Just please, do me one favor."

"I will if I'm able. What are you asking?"

She took a long sip of her tea and gently placed the cup back on the saucer before standing. She picked up her teacup and saucer and made for the door before giving her answer. "Give him a chance. He may stumble through things from time to time, but his heart is in the right place. If something doesn't go well this evening, please try to remember that, above all, he planned all of this for you." She nodded, as if to solidify her statement, then returned to the kitchen, leaving a confused Elsie in her wake.

Promptly at seven, Charles knocked upon Elsie's sitting room door. She jumped at the sound, her nerves slightly on edge after her talk with Mrs. Patmore, but she took a deep breath to calm them before answering the door.

"Right on time, I see, Mr. Carson. Give me a moment to turn off the light, and then we can go." She switched off the desk lamp and joined him in the doorway. "Lead the way."

"Allow me to accompany you to dinner, Mrs. Hughes," he said, extending his elbow, grateful when she accepted the invitation without any hesitation. He nodded proudly to Mrs. Patmore as they passed the entryway to the kitchen before starting up the winding staircases towards the main dining room.

At first, he had been at war with himself about taking such a liberty as using the family's dining room. If they were still here, he would never dream of sitting down at the magnificent table, partaking of a meal, or even entertaining someone else. However, Elsie had done a great many things to improve everyone's lives at Downton Abbey and if ever there was an occasion to break with tradition, this would surely be one of them.

Charles opened the doorway leading into the great dining room and bowed his head. "Dinner is served, milady," he said in a deep voice which held a bit of tenderness within it. He guided her to a chair at the end of the table, helping her to take her seat.

The first thing Elsie noticed was that they were not using the dishes and utensils she'd grown accustomed to seeing on the table in the servants' hall. This, she surmised, must be some of the china and silverware that belonged to the Crawley family. Candles were lit in the glimmering candelabras adorning the table and several surfaces around the room and the chandelier sparkled overhead as if it was made of crystals and diamonds. It was easy to see that the butler had taken great care in planning this meal, and she could easily hear Mrs. Patmore's kind words of advice ringing in her ears.

"This all looks very lovely, Mr. Carson. I'm truly honored that you invited me to dinner this evening." She watched with great curiosity as he poured them a healthy measure of wine and began serving their first course.

At first, the conversation was a bit stilted, neither of them quite sure which topics to touch upon, which ones to leave for another day. But it was Charles who managed to turn the conversation around when he asked about the housekeeper's favorite books. From that moment forward, there was never a lull in the light banter between the two, never once touching upon household matters or any of the occupants downstairs.

"Would you care for dessert now, Mrs. Hughes, or shall we wait a bit? I'm assured by Mrs. Patmore that it will keep, so no worries on that score."

She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and placed it beside her plate. "I'm rather stuffed at the moment, if it's not too impolite of me to say. If you are agreeable, I'd like to wait on the dessert course."

"I don't mind at all. In fact, that will be perfect, as I have a little surprise for you."

"A surprise? Goodness, Mr. Carson, I would have thought dinner in this magnificent room, and the food itself would have been surprise enough." She gave a grateful smile and dared to reach out and lay her hand upon his arm briefly before remembering herself and her position in this house.

"If you'll be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you." He walked behind her chair and held it for her as she gracefully stood. "This way, if you please." He led her out into the Great Hall and to a set of doors she had yet to enter. In fact, there were many rooms on this floor she hadn't explored, though perhaps after tonight, she might get the opportunity. He reached for the doorknob but before he opened the doors, he asked her to trust him and "close your eyes." She gave him a curious look, one that held a certain amount of mischief in her eyes, and did as he asked. He waived his hand in front of her eyes to make sure she wasn't peeking, then he opened the door and leaned down close to her ear. "Trust me," he said softly as his large hands landed on her shoulders and he guided her into the room.

Following his instructions about no peeking and standing perfectly still, she listened intently as he moved about the door. Based on the shadows playing across her closed eyelids, she assumed he was switching on lamps around the room, and given the lengths of his footsteps, she could also discern that the room was larger than most, if not all, she had already seen. Finally, she heard him approaching and she felt her heart begin to race in her chest, both with excitement and anticipation.

"You may open them," he instructed with a tender voice. He took a step back and watched all of the emotions and expressions play out on her face.

Slowly, she opened her eyes but was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted her. It was a massive room, much larger than any she'd ever seen in her lifetime. Two large, plush sofas covered in red velvet were placed near an enormous fireplace facing each other, a writing desk was placed near the windows which stretched almost from the floor to the ceiling and were adorned with the most exquisite draperies. But all of that paled in comparison to what truly captured her attention and imagination.

"The library," she gasped, looking around in wonderment. Hundreds, if not thousands, of books lined shelf after shelf after shelf. She stepped into the center of the room and slowly spun around, drinking in the true splendor of the room illuminated by dozens of lamps, a roaring fire, and the evening light spilling in through the windows. "Mr. Carson, it's truly amazing," she said softly, her voice breaking with emotion. "So many books," she said as a tear of happiness escaped her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek.

"I had hoped you'd appreciate this room," he answered, trying not to be overcome with emotion in response to her own. "I had help in getting the room ready, but the idea was mine. It's something I wanted to share with you, knowing that we share a love and appreciation for books."

She turned and looked at him, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears but their depths leaving nothing hidden. "You mean I will be granted access to all of these, to read at my leisure as my time permits?"

"Permission requested and granted, Mrs. Hughes. Every book in this library is now at your disposal. I only have one small request."

She walked over to one of the shelves and reverently touched the many volumes lining it, taking in the titles and authors, cataloging them to her memory. "And what might that be," she asked, carefully removing a well-worn copy of the complete works of Shakespeare and clutching it to her chest.

His lips curved into a small grin, not surprised at all by her first choice of reading materials. "I only ask that whenever you take a book, you lodge an entry into this ledger." He guided her to the corner of the room where a large book was kept. His name was the only one listed on both of the opened pages, causing her to briefly wonder if anyone else in the household was granted this privilege. She traced her name across the empty line beneath his last entry before reaching for the pen and looking back to him for reassurance. With a nod of his head, she carefully wrote her name, _Mrs. Elsie Hughes, Housekeeper_ , before turning to grant Mr. Carson the broadest smile.

"When you return the book, simply make a mark here, in this column, as I've done in the past. Even when the family was here, they abided by the same rules, from the Queen Mother to the youngest of their children."

He rarely spoke of the family, but when he did, there were always so many emotions laced through his voice, and tonight was no exception.

"I give you my word, Mr. Carson, I shall adhere to the rules and treat each and every volume as if it were my very own. I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. You've made me so very happy, and I doubt I could ever truly repay you."

"No thanks are needed, Mrs. Hughes. I hope, if it's not too presumptuous, that we might find time on occasion, to discuss our current readings, find similar likes and dislikes among the pages of these books, if you will."

"I should like that very much, very much indeed. And we can start with Shakespeare," she suggested, tapping the cover of the book held tenderly in her hand. She glanced around the room once more, still in absolute awe. "Have you read all of these books?"

"Good heavens, no," he said, sounding a little more gruff than he'd intended. Then, without even batting an eye, he eased away the harshness in his voice and replaced it with something more. "Some of them are in Greek," he teased before they both burst into heartfelt laughter, the likes of which had not been heard in the halls of Downton Abbey for years.

 **A/N:** And there you have it … they are growing closer and closer, one book at a time. Chelsiesouloftheabbey and I greatly appreciate your reviews, love, and enthusiasm for the story. And we want to say a special thanks to DameofDownstairs for her awesome artwork (seen on Tumblr and as the cover art for ffnet). And in the spirit of the holiday here in the USA, we want to say that we are THANKFUL FOR YOU!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The first things Colin noticed when he opened his eyes were the bright lights and the plush surroundings of the room in which he found himself. Never, in his entire life, had he slept in a bed as comfortable as this, with sheets so soft they felt like silk, and with a pillow that seemed to cradle his head upon a cloud. Carefully, he moved his head to first one side and then the other, surveying every part of the room and looking for clues as to his whereabouts.

Pain shot through his chest as he tried to sit up more in the bed, and looking down at his clothing, he noticed that he was no longer in his own things. Someone had taken the liberty of putting him in a fresh nightshirt, one that he most certainly could have never afforded given his finances. With his curiosity getting the better of him, and a deep desire to know where he was, he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, albeit shakily, to his feet.

Wobbling a bit at first, he took a few steps before he was halted by a severe coughing spell, one which nearly brought him to his knees. Gripping the post of the bed, he steadied himself until it passed; thankful he did not black out from the force behind the coughs, and took a few tentative steps towards the only object in the room which seemed familiar.

Despite the opulence of the room, the ornate ceramic wash basin beside the bed, the large writing desk by the window, and the thick rug beneath his feet, Colin was completely focused on a lone object sitting on the mantle. It was one he would recognize anywhere. He'd spent a week studying it carefully, finding just the right springs and coils, perfecting the timing until it was in excellent working order. Yes, this mantle clock was one he would never forget. How could he when such a thing of beauty entered one's life and brought such a handsome price. And yet he wondered how it had ended up here, in such a lavish home. The gentleman who'd first brought him the piece couldn't possibly own this house.

The timepiece sitting on the mantle was truly a unique design. Colin had never seen another like it before or since. It was made of the finest porcelain, resembling that of a dinner plate which might be used in a house of great wealth and means, certainly not a plate found at the Hughes home. Elsie has taken one look at it and fallen in love, declaring it the most beautiful clock she'd ever seen and likening it to a waxing gibbous moon. In the void, where the darkness of the moon would have been evident in the night sky, there was a five-pointed star which housed the delicate clock. The star and surrounding crescent were decorated with a wealth of flowers one might find in a proper English garden. Bright colors, slightly muted so as not to be overwhelming, were painted in such rich detail that they almost looked real. And the face of the clock was cast in sparkling gold, and when the light hit it just so, Elsie said it reminded her of stars twinkling in the night sky. No doubt, that was the desired effect crafted by the creator, and both Colin and Elsie admired the handiwork. Just as he was about to reach out and gently touch the edge of the casing, the door opened behind him and in stepped a familiar, yet unfamiliar, face.

"Ah, you're up and about I see. Very good." The tall, stout man with dark eyes stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. "We had hoped you would finally be awake and able to eat a bit this morning."

Confused, Colin carefully walked back to the bed and sat on its edge. "I'm sorry, but, where am I? And, more importantly, who are you? I do not recall your name, but you look familiar."

"And the clock, it would seem," the man countered. "My name is Spratt, Septimus Spratt, and I am the butler to the Queen Mother," he announced with more than a hint of pride laced through his voice. "You, no doubt, recognize me because of our dealings with that very timepiece on the mantle. It was a gift to Her Majesty from a very old and dear friend. When it stopped working, she was most displeased. I had heard of your reputation with mending clocks, so I brought it to you. I will admit, I was more than a little hesitant about leaving it with you but you restored it and Milady was most pleased … with both of us."

Colin scratched his head and tried to recall that particular set of memories. "Yes, I remember you now. You were quite demanding and skittish," he said, thinking to himself that the man was also more than a little arrogant, as well. One look at Spratt's face was enough to force Colin to continue. "Though, you were rather generous in paying the fee and adding in a little extra something for my troubles. That was very kind of you, sir."

"That was her Highness's doing. When I told her about you, she made a few inquiries. Apparently, your reputation is quite remarkable in the surrounding villages. Not a single blight against your name, which is quite rare. Everyone spoke highly of your talents in repairing clocks, and for a reasonable fare."

Colin felt his cheeks warm a bit at the unsolicited compliment. "Am I to assume, then, that I am a guest of Her Majesty? The last thing I remember was falling ill and seeing a rather large carriage and a magnificent team of horses … oh no! Philippe! My horse!"

"Your horse is fine. I can assure you. He's being tended in our stables with our own horses. Once you are dressed, the doctor will be here to have a look at you. He was quite concerned for you as you have been very ill. However, your fever broke yesterday so you should be on the mend. Assuming he thinks you are well enough to travel, I will arrange for a footman to see you and your horse home."

"What do you mean by ' _quite some time'_ ," Colin asked, shocked by the news that he had been so severly ill. "How long have I been a guest?"

"Oh, longer than I would have cared for, I assure you, but Her Majesty is generous and wanted you looked after until you were well enough to travel. As you are now up and about, I think that time has come."

Colin realized he would get no more information out of the man and would be better off departing with as much haste as possible. "I would like to thank Her Highness for her generosity of spirit and to make arrangements to repay her for the food, lodgings, and any other expenses she's incurred during my stay."

"That won't be necessary. She said she was happy to help considering your reputation and gift with clocks." Spratt motioned towards a chair where the clothes Colin had been wearing when he had collapsed sat freshly laundered and folded. "So, if you'd be so kind, I will leave you to it and be back shortly with the doctor, some tea, and breakfast."

After a hearty meal consisting of eggs, toast, porridge, jam, and bread, Colin was introduced to a kind doctor; Clarkson, he thought the man was named. He was given a proper examination and advised to rest as much as possible in the next few days, drink lots of fluids, and stay indoors until the nasty cough had subsided. Colin listened closely, though with little intentions of following the doctor's instructions. How could he when his daughter was still being held in the massive house with a man who seemed disinterested in showing any compassion, even to those in need?

As soon as the doctor left, Spratt returned to the room. "Seems he's given you permission to return to your home. I've arranged for the carriage to take you back. I would advise you to do as the doctor prescribed. When you arrived here, you had a high fever and were mumbling something about a castle, some woman named Elsie, and a kidnapping. Sounds like a rather sordid tale, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't ask you," Colin snapped without thinking of the consequences. "I mean, that is to say … funny what the mind will dream up in a fevered state. Elsie is my daughter, and she's currently away from home. I hope to see her again very soon, though. She helps me with the clocks and the farm."

"Very nice, I'm sure," Spratt replied with a sneer. "Now, if you'll kindly dress, I will escort you to the carriage so you can return home to your farm and your work."

"Are you certain I cannot speak with Her Highness, only for a moment, to express my gratitude?"

"Yes. I'm very certain. She's busy, at the moment. I'm sure you understand."

Feeling quite defeated and a little nervous about upsetting this fidgety man, Colin merely conceded the point and obediently followed Spratt down a series of winding staircases and into the fresh air through the servants' entry.

"Thank you, again, for your hospitality. I hope to one day repay Her Highness, but until that day, she has my eternal gratitude." Spratt nodded then motioned for the footman and the team of horses to start on their journey towards Colin's home.

oOoOoOoOo

Unbeknownst to Colin, Joe Burns was also on his way back to the Hughes farm. His efforts over the last few weeks to locate the elusive castle with the beast of a man reigning over it were in vain. He was more convinced than ever that Elsie had simply had enough of her father's feeble attempts to make the farm successful and his clock business wasn't earning nearly enough to keep it from the tax collector. And the more Joe thought about the prospect of losing Elsie to someone else, most likely in another village, the angrier her became until he was practically seething by the time he reached the outskirts of Thirsk.

"Joe! Joe, you're back," Jos yelled across the village square as he saw the familiar horse and his friend riding towards him.

"You are supposed to be at the Hughes farm keeping watch! Why are you here in the village?" Joe pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted, his jaws firmly set and a steely gaze looking down at Jos.

"Well, funny story, that! After all this time, Colin returned this afternoon, in a fancy carriage no less, and he didn't look all that well. He's been gone as long as you, and I came looking for you, hoping you'd be back. And he even had money to give a portion to the tax collector. I saw that with my own eyes. Colin was just making his way into the house when the man showed up. There was some talk of payments, though I couldn't make it all out clearly. Then, he surprised us all by reaching into his pocket and pulling out several coins. I think he was as surprised as the tax collector, judging by the look on his face, and then Colin went inside while the other man left."

"Wait a minute! Go back. Fancy carriage, you say? What are you on about now, Jos? Are you sure you weren't daydreaming instead of keeping a watchful eye?"

"No, honest! A nice carriage with a smartly dressed man driving the team pulled up in front of the house not more than two hours ago. He watched the whole exchange between Colin and the tax man, then he helped the old man inside. After that, he took Colin's horse to the stable for food and water, then left again. I was going to ask him a few questions, but he left before I could."

"So, the old man is back, then! Well, I think it's time I paid him another visit … and this time, he won't be so dismissive of me. I can guarantee it."

"No luck finding the house or Elsie, then? What are you planning to do?" Jos had to admit that he was more than a little nervous for the old man and his daughter. When Joe Burns put his mind to it, he usually managed to get his way, regardless of the consequences or circumstances. The idea that Colin Hughes and Elsie might suffer made the nervous little man very apprehensive.

"The old man has played me for a fool, Jos, and I won't stand for it. I've roamed these woods all this time and there's no sign of a house or his daughter. Well, he'll not make a fool out of me any longer, and I'm finished playing his games. If he can't tell me where Elsie is, then I'll see to it that he regrets ever starting this whole sordid tale."

Jos wrung his hands nervously, not at all comfortable with Joe's tone of voice or the fire he could see in his eyes. "But, why would he lie? He's an old man, and we both know she loves her father too much to simply walk away. Doesn't make any sense … his story or her disappearance."

Joe laughed loudly and slapped Jos on the back. "And that's exactly what we're going to point out to the rest of the village, my friend. It doesn't make _sense_! Any rational thinking man would see that this is the elaborate storytelling of a man who is clearly on the verge of cracking. He's losing it, the old man. His farm. His daughter. His reputation. Don't you see? This … this story … it's all he has left. Elsie must have known it was coming so she fled before her reputation could be damaged, too."

"I … I don't know. His story hasn't changed since the first time he told it. That doesn't seem like a delusional man to me, Joe. And he truly does seem worried. Why else would he have left the farm to go looking for her when you … rightly mind you … refused to help?"

Joe rolled his eyes and sighed to show his discontent. "It's all part of his little game. I swear, you are so naïve at times! He wanted everyone to believe him so they'd take pity on him. In order to do that, he had to make us all believe he was out hunting for his daughter, and to strike fear and to gain support, he made up that grand tale about the man in the castle."

"But that doesn't explain the carriage that brought him back or why he was gone for so long."

"Are you saying you don't believe me, Jos Tufton? Are you telling me that you're ready to take his side in this matter … after all I've done for you? After all this time, you're telling me you now have sympathy for the only man in town who has ever dared to deny me something I desired?"

Jos's voice shook as he answered. "N … no! Not at all, Joe. You know I'm always on your side. I've been your loyal friend for years. I'd never … "

"Good! Then I can count on your help and support when I put my next plan in motion. I can tell you it won't be pretty but it's the only way. I'll have Hughes farm and everything that entails. And when his precious Elsie comes running back, well … she will have two choices. She can marry me and together we will raise a family and she'll be a loyal wife."

Jos scratched his head. "Or? You made it sound like there was a second option. She can marry you … or?"

With a scowl on his face, Joe turned to Tufton and arched an eyebrow. "She can marry me, or she will marry me. Those are her only options. For a woman in her position, this late in her life, her choices are very limited, my friend. I'm the best hope she has for a good future. As it is, I'm taking a risk, and hoping that she can sire me at least two good sons. If not, there are other means of producing an heir, and she'll have no right to complain, if I have to make use of those options available to me. She shouldn't have put me off for long and wasted so many good child-bearing years."

"Ah, yes. There aren't many women in this village who would deny you, that's for sure, though I don't think Elsie Hughes will stand for a cheating husband or an illegitimate child."

"She'll have no choice but to grin and endure, though I will be generous with her. I will give her ample opportunity and time to grant me children. I wouldn't dream of taking a mistress for at least the first year of our marriage, maybe even two if she's agreeable in that area of things," he said with a toothy grin which made Jos's skin crawl.

He suppressed a shudder before asking his next question. "So, where do we go from here? Colin Hughes won't give up the farm, or his story, easily, and we've no proof that Elsie has abandoned him other than the fact that she's not here."

"Then we make our own facts, my friend! We will go down to the pub, if he won't talk, and start spreading rumors about Elsie being driven away by her crazy father. We will tell them all how I have searched and searched the woods and nearby villages for any signs of her but found none. Then, it will be your job to raise suspicions about what Colin might have done to his daughter and blaming it on this beast of a man he claims lives in a castle. We need to make it sound like he's delusional, maybe even go so far as to make them think he has multiple personalities. You know … a kind old man who has finally snapped and perhaps harmed his only child in a fit of rage."

Jos laughed. "They'll never believe Colin capable of all that, Joe. We'll be laughed right out of the pub before we even get halfway through the story."

Joe lowered his voice, and it sounded darker and more menacing than Jos had ever heard. "We will make this story work, if it takes every single ounce of energy I have, calling in every favor owed me, and bribing anyone who gets in my way. If he won't tell me where she is, I'll either flush her out by discrediting her father, or I'll have him locked away and take the farm by paying the taxes. One way or another, this ends!"

Jos Tufton felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. While Joe Burns was the best friend he had ever had, his obsession with Elsie Hughes and her father's farm was getting a little out of hand. The old man had only ever wanted to protect his daughter and preserve his farm. Now, if he followed through with Joe's plans, the farmer might lose everything and Elsie could be sent to the workhouse if she refused to marry. But, if he didn't go along with the plan, it was certain, too, that Jos's life would be much less comfortable without Joe's support. As he listened to his mentor scheming about how their next moves would play out, he could only send up silent prayers that either Colin answered Joe's questions or the villagers wouldn't believe them. He'd rather be run out of town for vicious lies and rumors than to ruin the reputations of Colin and Elsie Hughes.

 **A/N:** And so the plot thickens! The clock is ticking for Charles, Elsie, Colin, and everyone at Downton Abbey while Joe and Jos scheme their way into devious waters. **insert dramatic theme music here** ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and I want to thank each and every reviewer (signed and guest) for the lovely reviews. You guys have been wonderful with your support and encouragement for the story. Big shout out to DameofDownstairs for the beautiful artwork and Girl-Loves-Cake for the editing skills! If you're interested in seeing the clock described in the beginning of the chapter, hop over to my tumblr (Chelsie-Carson) or ChelsieSouloftheAbbey's (Csota). Hugs for everyone and happy reading!


	15. Chapter 15

Elsie sighed as she closed her book, a small smile playing about her lips as she relived the last several chapters: a prince in disguise, a kiss, and a happily ever after. It was her favorite kind of ending, although she was hard pressed to identify precisely why.

 _Perhaps,_ she thought wryly, _it's because life so seldom happens that way._

In their village, Elsie knew many families. All of them, she supposed. And maybe it had to do with the fact that they were raising children and trying to make ends meet, but in Elsie's mind, so few of the married parents and grandparents truly seemed _happy._ She seldom witnessed a husband looking upon his wife adoringly, or a wife taking a moment to brush a hand across her man's arm in passing. Her father had told her once that she spent too much time with her mind on fiction, that real life could be harder to sort out sometimes. Yet when Elsie looked at her Da any time he spoke of her Mam, she could see in _his_ eyes all the things she found lacking in so many others'. Even now, decades later, Colin's love for his wife burned brightly. They had been a shining example of how, sometimes, dreams really could come true.

Except that their dream had been over far too soon, indeed.

Elsie looked down at the book's cover, drawing her fingers across the gilded edging and the curly script of the title. She smiled more broadly when she remembered the library from which it came, the smell of the books and the sheer size of the room … and the fact that she now had permission to access any and all of its contents. She'd need three lifetimes to read everything it contained, but that didn't bother her at all. This particular selection she'd made only last night, and as she sat back in her chair, she remembered carefully adding her name to the ledger that Mr. Carson had asked her to use.

 _Asked. Not instructed._

She shook her head and laid the book on her side table.

 _More changes._

Elsie sat back in her chair and drummed her fingertips on the desk before her, thinking back once again to the rose she'd found. It was enchanted, that much she knew - and, quite possibly, the rest of the place was, too. She'd worked that much out by now. Oh, it had all seemed on the up-and-up initially, but the more time she spent in the Abbey and the more slips of the tongue each of the staff members made when they didn't think she was listening, the more she was putting together for herself.

Asking the cook why they didn't ever _leave_ the place had been her first success; the look on Mrs. Patmore's face had been very informative, indeed. Elsie had expected her to be surprised by the forthright question, but the poor woman had merely sighed and tried to stuff down a bit of what seemed to Elsie to be almost _fear_. Then there had been the delivery man who'd let slip that he never used to be able to bring everything alone "when the family had been in residence." A week after that, Mr. Barrow had mentioned something about being responsible for winding all of the clocks by himself now that someone he referred to as "Jimmy" wasn't around any longer.

And, of course, there was clothing in Elsie's wardrobe and in the countless other rooms she was now in charge of keeping up. It was clear to Elsie that this was not simply a family on holiday, because they'd surely have returned by now. No, something was _keeping_ them away, and Elsie shuddered a bit as a chill went down her spine, a whisper of something more that dissipated before she could grasp it.

"Penny for them?"

The butler's deep voice made her jump, but she was smiling widely by the time she turned to face him as he entered her sitting room.

"Oh, just a healthy dose of magic and romance, Mr. Carson."

He smirked. "So, the usual?"

Elsie's light laughter warmed his heart, and at the wave of her hand he nodded, took up the chair by her fireplace, and dragged it closer to her desk before sitting. She supposed she should have stood to greet him, but the parlour was _her_ space, really, not his, and she still felt at times that she had so very little she could stake a claim to that she'd hold on to each small thing with some determination.

He didn't seem to mind, though.

"I don't know why I sat, really. I don't mean to take up too much of your time. I actually only came to ask if you'd like to meet for a sherry or perhaps some wine tonight before you retire? I think they're almost through in the kitchen, and while I realize it's late …" His voice trailed off.

"I'd love to. Thank you," Elsie replied softly. "The only other plans I have tonight are to return this book to the library and get another."

"You've not finished that already! When have you had time?"

"Well, I began it last night and read for a couple of hours before nodding off," she admitted. "But don't worry! The book didn't sustain any damage."

"I didn't think it had," he chuckled.

"Yes," she replied, blushing faintly. "Well, then. The rest happened prior to breakfast, during my lunch, and I've only just finished it."

"I wondered why you hadn't come for lunch," he chided gently. "I thought you might not be feeling well."

Elsie looked up, her brow furrowed. "Oh, I'm sorry to have worried you." She chose not to mention that it was only recently that he, himself, had returned to taking lunch at the staff table. She also chose to ignore the potential reasons behind that – none of which, she reminded herself daily, she had any knowledge of whatsoever.

But Charles just waved her concern away. "Don't be sorry. You aren't _required_ to join us all the time. I, myself, am evidence enough of that. And I have no right to question how you spend that time."

"Well, be that as it may, I enjoyed the book very much. I think I need a change of pace tonight, however. Perhaps the one with the doctor …"

"That would not be my first choice," he answered with a shudder, "but to each their own."

Elsie watched as he clapped his hands over his knees, as though he were coming to a decision. But he simply rose and returned his chair to its original spot, before turning to speak to her again.

"Would an hour suit?"

"Perfect, Mr. Carson," she replied softly.

As she watched him exit the parlour, Elsie couldn't help but wonder if he were truly looking forward to seeing her again as much as she was looking forward to seeing _him_.

 **oOoOoOo**

Elsie smiled as she swallowed the last of her wine, setting the glass gently down on the small tray before them.

"That was lovely, Mr. Carson," she said softly. "Thank you for inviting me to join you."

"It was the least I could do." His voice rumbled, reverberating in the silence of his pantry, and her heart skipped a beat.

"It has been quite a week, hasn't it?"

He nodded, finished the last of his own drink, and added his glass to the tray.

"Shall we head up to the library?" he suggested. "Get you the horrid book with the doctor and the monster? Unless I can persuade you to choose something better on the way there, that is. Perhaps a bit of history, or even something that's an actual _classic?"_

Elsie's laugh was soft and light, and try as he might to ignore it, Charles couldn't keep his lips from forming a small smile. He coughed to cover up his delight, hoping that she'd not have noticed.

They rose simultaneously, and he held the door as she took up the tray and proceeded to the kitchen to wash the glasses.

"You can leave them, you know," he said. "Mrs. Patmore will take care of them come morning."

"Mrs. Patmore will have enough to do come sunrise," came her reply as she rinsed a glass. "The least we can do is not leave her a mess to wake up to."

"Hmph."

Elsie shook her head and sighed. She could tell there was a kind man lurking within the butler standing behind her; after all, she'd glimpsed him in there so frequently these past few days. Yet at times like these he exasperated her, his unwillingness to acknowledge the efforts of the other staff members needling her in a way she didn't appreciate.

 _Small steps,_ she reminded herself, and she managed to smile when she turned to face him again.

"Shall we?" Charles extended his hand to the doorway, and she nodded, anxious to get the new book and tuck in for a few chapters before falling asleep.

They walked silently down the corridor, close but not quite touching. It was thrilling to them both in different ways: to her, because she could sense once again that the butler was lowering his guard a bit with her, that his true self was showing more and more; to him, because he could sense her excitement, the joy that something he'd always taken for granted - the use and even mere existence of the library - was bringing to her life.

His hand brushed hers accidentally as they turned into the doorway, and his breath caught in his throat.

She jumped, but tried to hide it, rushing over to the table nearest them instead. A large book was set upon a viewing stand; their sheer size took up most of the table's space.

"How did I not see this before?" Elsie murmured, her hand reaching out. She brushed her fingertips gently over the scrollwork that edged the massive book, and a tingling sensation made her gasp.

"I daresay you were drawn to the thousands of other books in here at the time," he replied wryly, coming up beside her. He noticed the way her fingers danced across the cover, wondering if her touch would be as gentle on his hand … his face, perhaps …

"Mr. Carson?"

He snapped his head up and met her gaze.

"It's an atlas," he blurted, flushing at his lack of ability to finesse the current situation. "Maps."

She smirked. "I am aware of what the word means, Mr. Carson." Her eyes fell back to the book. "But this one seems … special, I suppose."

She brushed her hand over the cover once more, coming to a stop just prior to opening it, then glanced back at him. "May I?"

Charles hesitated, reaching down to tug at his waistcoat, a motion that Elsie already knew to associate with discomfort and unease.

"It's all right," she said, backing away. "It's not the reason we came here anyhow. I can just grab the other -"

"No," he interrupted, reaching out and resting his hand gently on her forearm, stopping her from leaving. "It's fine. It's just that this one _is_ special, as you've said. Quite special, indeed."

"In the same way as the rest of this place, you mean?" she asked. She saw the truth in his eyes before he even nodded. "Like the rose?"

"Precisely."

He reached for the book and opened it slowly, and Elsie drew in a soft breath as the map on the page before her glittered in the soft light from the library's lamps. It was a picture of the whole world, done in deep blues and shining gold accent, the large pages showing a great deal of detail.

"Ohh," she breathed.

"This book will take you wherever you want to go," Charles explained in a whisper. "Would you like to try it?"

Elsie backed up a step, her eyes fixed to the page but her mind racing as she tried to examine the possibilities.

 _Surely not …_

"I … I don't know," she whispered.

"It's perfectly safe," he added. "Anywhere you want to be. Anywhere in the world … Anywhere in _time."_

Charles watched as his housekeeper's beautiful eyes widened, as she began to nod slowly.

"Anywhere in time?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"I've always wondered," Elsie whispered. She turned to look at him, unaware that she'd just spoken those words aloud. "If I use it … would … would you come with me?" she asked more steadily.

Charles was a bit taken aback, but his heart soared at the trust she was placing in him. "Of course," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "Where are we going?"

Elsie reached out and laid her flat upon the page. "You'll see, Mr. Carson," she whispered.

Carson laid his hand over hers gently as the room began to spin.

"Here we go," he murmured, and everything went black.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry - bit of a cliffhanger there, and a shorter installment. But have no fear! I believe our Elsie will be in safe hands, indeed. ;)  
** **We'd like to thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely reviews, especially the guest reviewers to whom we cannot reply directly. It's lovely hearing what all of your favorite bits are as we go along! And a special shout-out to dameofdownstairs and girl-loves-cake for their lovely artwork and help with getting this into everyone's Inboxes in a sensible, proofread manner. xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Wow, everyone! Thanks so much for all the amazing reviews.**

 **If you haven't seen the NEW version of BatB, this chapter will seem strange to you. Nevertheless, it's an important part of the story for our couple. In some ways, this story is very much more "BatB" than it is "Downton," but we appreciate all the ways you're seeing out beloved Chelsie in the ways this is written.**

 **We have several chapters that were "favorites" to write, and this was one of the top two. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Special shout-out to dameofdownstairs and girl-loves-cake, because they deserve all the love for their hard work to make this a more beautiful story. xxx**

 **Hogwarts Duo / ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**

* * *

The first thing Elsie was aware of after hearing Mr. Carson's quietly uttered "here we go" was the immediate warm sensation that seemed to cascade over and through her body. It felt like a gentle wave, moving from the top of her head down through the soles of her feet. She found it unnerving in a way she couldn't manage to describe, and her mind was only drawn from it by the feel of his hand as it rested over hers. His touch was also warm, but his hand was soft and - perhaps more importantly - she could sense that he was quite hesitant to touch her at all. She felt his nervousness as innately as she felt her own, and she turned her palm up and grasped his fingers, steadying them both.

She closed her eyes as she felt the very air around them change, noticing how it became a bit thinner, and she had to try a bit harder to breathe. But upon feeling a brisk, cool wind at her back, her eyelids snapped open, and Elsie felt her jaw drop as she examined her surroundings in wonder.

They were _flying._ At least … she _thought_ so.

Everything around them both was pitch black. She turned to see Mr. Carson's face, to see if he was as awestruck as she felt, but in the darkness she could, of course, make nothing out. Unable to speak, she was reassured when she felt him move his hand slightly, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tightly.

She closed her eyes again, and moments later she felt her feet touch down gently on solid ground.

"Mrs. Hughes? Are you all right?"

Peering at his housekeeper in concern, Charles wondered if perhaps he should have warned her about the _sensations_ of the traveling itself and what to expect. But as she dropped his hand and turned to him, he became lost in the deep blue of her eyes, noticing how they were alight with excitement and a bit of wonder.

"I am," she murmured, tearing her gaze from his in order to look around the small room where they were standing.

"And may I enquire as to our whereabouts?" he said. "Although I have a suspicion."

"And it's likely correct. We're in Glasgow, which is where I was born, Mr. Carson. Where my story began, I suppose. I hoped … Well, I hoped that returning here might give me more of a sense of who I truly am."

"Of who you are? I don't understand."

"No," she half-laughed. "You wouldn't. You've always fit in at the Abbey, haven't you? In that life of aristocracy and service?"

He nodded, unsure of where she was headed with her thoughts.

"Well, I've never known that. I've never quite fit in where we live, and I barely fit in at Downton, either!" She paused. "I know so little of my mother, because Da can hardly bear to speak of her sometimes. I know that they loved one another deeply, and that she loved me … but I know nothing of her passing, nothing of how my story really began."

"How long has it been that she's been gone?"

His voice was kind, concerned, and she smiled her appreciation.

"Since I was a wee bairn. I've no memory of her at all. I have no memory of this place, either, so we must not have been here long, but I've always known this was where we lived when I was born. It is one thing Da did tell me. This city is where my parents met, and it's always held a special place in his heart."

"Yet he left," Charles observed, and she nodded sadly.

Looking around, Elsie couldn't help but have mixed feelings about the flat itself. In many ways, it was everything she'd imagined and more. As she'd told Mr. Carson, she had grown up with some stories from her Da - great, wonderful stories full of happiness mixed with longing, of memories colored with a hint of sadness that would peek out between vast expanses of love and light. But in some ways, seeing this place now only served to sadden her greatly, as a simple glance about showed that the family who'd lived here - while undoubtedly rich in love - had lived a life of extreme poverty.

Elsie moved from the spot where they'd been standing and approached the nearest wall, its paint decayed and peeling away in some areas, and lifted her fingers to the surface, surprised by how cold the wood felt.

Charles watched as she drew her fingers gently across the wall before dropping her hand to a small table and picking something up. It was a tiny statuette of a horse, and the soft smile that graced her lips as she examined it made his heart swell. He wanted to offer some words of support, of reassurance or maybe even comfort, but he found that anything he wanted to say simply fizzled out in his throat before ever reaching his lips. Resolute in his desire to protect her, he took the smallest step closer to where she stood, watching her every move.

Elsie put the small horse back on the table and drew her fingers over the other objects that lay beside it: a broken mirror, a hair comb and pin, and an empty cup. She turned to her left, somewhat aware of Mr. Carson's strong presence close behind her but unable to look at or speak to him just yet. Her eyes took in the rest of the small room.

 _Bed,_ she remarked. _A broken chair … stove for cooking … that must be the bench where Da worked …_

 _Ohh_ _…_

Elsie swiftly made her way to the bench and bent over it, examining an item resting near the corner.

"What is it?"

His rumbling voice didn't startle her as he'd feared; rather, she found some comfort in the low tones, in the way he was controlling it so as not to frighten her or - it seemed to her - to not disturb the wonder of the entire experience they were sharing.

Elsie turned to him.

"A clock," she said softly. "Or, rather, most of a clock. Look here, at the mechanism. Do you see this part?" She turned and pointed to the metal and gears, moving aside a bit in order to let him approach more closely.

Charles, however, merely hummed, so distracted was he by her nearness that he was struggling to maintain focus on the clock itself.

"He must have been nearly finished with this one," she was saying. "He needs one more gear placed -" She pointed at the metal workings. "- here, and then it'll work. I should bring it back, get it to him somehow -"

She stopped at the feel of the butler's hand on hers once again, and as she felt his fingers curl over hers and gently tug her hand away from the timepiece, she scowled. But before she could argue, the explanation came forth.

"You cannot take it," he told her gently. "This - all of this," he said, his other hand waving to indicate their surroundings, "is merely a memory. A flicker of time that we are being allowed to see. You - _We_ \- can experience it, yes, touch it and learn from it … but the only parts we can bring back will remain here," he finished, touching a finger to her temple.

Elsie felt tears beginning to prick her eyes from the moment he touched her hand. She _knew_ that what he said was true, but his soothing tone did nothing to assuage the sorrow and longing in her heart.

"I suppose I knew that in my heart," she admitted sadly, brushing at her eye with the back of her hand as a small child might do. "But it was worth a try, wasn't it?"

She looked into his eyes at last and spied a touch of amusement in them amidst some other feelings she was unable to put a name to.

"It was at that."

They stood there for several seconds, unmoving, before Elsie turned away at last.

Charles stood steadily by the bench as she moved about the room, reaching to touch one item and then the next, murmuring to herself and occasionally describing something aloud to him. When she found something that excited her, he moved to join her, and from that point forward they progressed through the memory side by side.

"I thought at first this building was simply a work area," he said at one point. "A shop, perhaps, where your mother might have worked or visited your father. But this was your entire home, wasn't it?"

Elsie nodded. "It was. Well, it was Da's home first. But when they married, Mam insisted on staying here as it was inexpensive and because it would have been difficult to move all of his things."

Charles glanced over at the table, now empty save for the unfinished clock, and tried to imagine Mr. Hughes hunched over the bench, working away at one project or another, a young wife standing by his side with a tiny babe in her arms.

"He always holds back when I ask about those early days," Elsie said, interrupting his thoughts. "He makes sure I know how much I was wanted, and how happy they were, but when I ask about when she … when she _died_ …"

"It's too much for him to bear," he supplied, and she nodded.

"Precisely. He shuts down, and he's so saddened by it that I can't bring myself to press him."

"Of course," he replied understandingly.

Elsie sighed. "I just wish I knew the entire story."

"Well, perhaps we can put it together between us." He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled gratefully and nodded.

"I hope so, Mr. Carson."

She turned and clasped her hands before her waist, trying to leave behind the heavy emotion in in the room. She switched to a more analytical approach as she scanned their surroundings once again.

"What's back here, I wonder?" she murmured.

She made her way to a ratty blanket suspended from a tight rope that was strung between the front and back wall of the room. Reaching out, she pulled the side of the blanket towards herself and peeked behind.

"It's a second room," she said unnecessarily. "Or, rather, another part of this one."

"A sleeping area?" he suggested. "I presume your father set up the division in order to keep from waking you and your mother whilst he was out here tinkering away on his clocks."

"You're probably right," Elsie agreed, pushing the blanket further aside before proceeding through. She then widened the opening and indicated for him to follow.

Charles made his way into the sleeping quarters, noting the large bed in the corner with its rumpled linens, a framed picture hanging crooked on the wall, a small bedside table with a pitcher and bowl … and the crib resting beside the table.

"Look at the portrait!" Elsie's voice was clear - and loud - in the small room, her excitement evident. "I wonder why he didn't take that."

"Perhaps he was in a rush," Charles suggested, looking for evidence of something - _anything_ \- that would explain the story behind why Colin Hughes moved his family on from the small, decaying flat but left a few seemingly-precious things behind.

Elsie moved closer to the portrait, smiling at the gentle lines, the love in each and every stroke of the pencil. She marveled at the resemblance of the woman in the picture to her current appearance.

"You favor," Charles commented as though he'd read her mind. "She's lovely."

A smile pulled at the corners of Elsie's mouth as she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured. "Although it's my Da's eyes I've got."

"Indeed."

Elsie sighed sadly. "He sketched that; I'm sure of it. He's a marvelous artist, although he shows it more through clockmaking than charcoal these days."

"A talented man, indeed." He couldn't help but feel guilty as Mrs. Hughes unveiled more and more details of her father's character, realizing much too late that the man wasn't selfish or greedy at all, but rather kind, generous, gifted, and loving.

 _And loved,_ he thought. _By this amazing woman now standing here beside me. I should be so lucky._

It was then that he spied what lay inside the crib … and a glimpse of what was on top of the bed.

"Mr. Carson?"

"It's nothing," he rumbled, turning away and bumping into the corner of the bed frame. "Oh!" He reached down to rub his knee.

"Are you all right? You've hurt yourself." She reached out to touch his forearm, but he brushed her hand aside gently.

"I'm fine," he said brusquely.

"What is it?" Elsie asked, truly worried now. "Something's upset you."

He turned his gaze to hers, and for a moment Elsie could see all the caring that, up until that point, he'd managed to keep shuttered away from her since the day they met.

Turning away from him and examining the bed in the corner, she saw them: sheets, terribly stained, with several spots that looked like blood.

"I don't understand," she muttered. "It looks as though we all left like thieves in the night. But I don't understand … Da never would have left _those._ "

"Mrs. Hughes, do you know _how_ your mother died?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. "No," she answered eventually. "I know she was ill, but ..."

Her voice trailed off when she noticed him examining her intently, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in every detail, and then nodding as if to confirm something to himself. "I'm guessing you were born - forgive me for being impolite – in the late eighteen sixties?"

She nodded slowly, stunned. "Eighteen sixty-eight," she whispered. "How on earth did you know that?"

"I read quite a bit," he said automatically. "History buff and all. Try to keep up with the news ..."

She just started at him, uncomprehending.

"Mrs. Hughes … There was a typhoid outbreak in Glasgow in the mid-eighteen hundreds," he said. "In eighteen sixty-seven, I believe. It lasted quite a while. By eighteen sixty-eight, the amount of people afflicted had grown by leaps and bounds."

"Typhoid? But there's a vaccine …"

He shook his head. "Not then there wasn't. And when it was developed, it was very expensive. A flat such as this, with no running water or plumbing, close quarters … it's likely. Cleanliness was paramount to keeping disease away, but in this type of neighborhood …"

"He's always been a hard worker, Mr. Carson," she interrupted tearfully. "My Da did _everything_ he could to -"

He held up a hand to silence her, realizing he'd explained himself poorly.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said calmly, "I meant no disrespect by that. It's evident that your father loved - _loves_ \- you very much, indeed, and no doubt your mother did as well. I'm guessing she made you the small doll in that crib."

Elsie peered in, not having noticed it previously, and lifted out a small baby doll with soft yarn for hair. She held it up to her nose, smelling deeply, as if she could somehow inhale a trace of a memory from this object her Mam had so lovingly sewn.

"Your father has done well by you," he added softly, his heart breaking as he watched her return the doll to the crib, "and he managed to build a good life for you both on your farm. But the reality is that there _was_ a massive outbreak around the time you were an infant … and your mother definitely died here - likely in this room, but definitely in this flat."

Her brow furrowed. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

Elsie watched as Carson pointed to the wardrobe, the door slightly open. She made her way around the bed and over to it, pulling the door open slowly.

It was half-full of modest clothing.

 _Women's clothing,_ she thought sadly. _My Mam's …_

She didn't hear Mr. Carson approach her as she reached out to finger a delicate, well-worn, lace-trimmed sleeve, and this time, when he laid his large hand on her shoulder, she jumped.

"I'm sorry," he said, backing away slightly.

Elsie turned to see him, a tear spilling down her cheek. "No, it's all right. I'm glad you're here with me, actually." She turned back to the nightgown, pushing it back inside the wardrobe and closing the door firmly. "I'm not sure I'd have been able to make sense of it all had I been alone. I mean, I knew she died in Glasgow, but …"

Charles nodded. "We can stay as long as you like."

But Elsie shook her head as she wiped her tears away.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm done here. I think we know what I came to find out, and I don't think I can bear to stand among it all any longer."

"As you wish," he replied, and as he took her hand, the room went black once again.

"Home," she heard him murmur, and the last conscious thought she had before closing her eyes was how strange it was that, upon hearing him say the word, it was the image of Downton that it conjured in her mind, and not her home with her Da in Thirsk.

 **Thanks for reading, and we'd love to know what you thought. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

In the weeks that followed their return to Downton, Charles noticed that his housekeeper was becoming a bit withdrawn. She was quieter during their interactions at the table and when discussing work needing to be done. She was always focused, of course, but never offered any words other than those necessary to answer his questions. She never seemed to be about when he would search for her, either, although he supposed it wasn't terribly difficult to get lost in the house if one really wanted not to be found. After about two weeks, though, he noticed that she seemed a bit tired. But knowing that it had been emotionally draining for _him_ to visit her childhood home and see all that they had seen, he chalked her new behavior up to the fact that it must have been doubly so for her. Therefore, he decided that if she wanted some time to herself with her thoughts, he'd leave her to them for the time being.

The fact was, Elsie was more withdrawn simply _because_ she hadn't been sleeping well. Their visit to Glasgow had well and truly taken its toll on her, and when she did manage to sleep, her nights were filled with horrible dreams and hazy images of a mother she never knew, one who had only ever lived in her imagination. After a few nights of restlessness, Elsie began napping a bit mid-afternoon, during the time when she rarely had to work and when none of the other staff ever seemed to need her assistance. It was a small bandage on a large wound, however, as the bags under her eyes told her every morning.

She knew Mr. Carson worried she might be ill, and while she didn't want to burden him with her troubles, she appreciated the kindness she sensed in his eyes when they'd glance her way at the table.

As the days passed, Elsie felt herself improve a bit. The dreams were going away, or at least she was no longer crying herself awake, and the coldness in the air that had heralded the firm arrival of winter reminded Elsie that the holidays were nearly upon them. That had always been a happy time for her as a lass, and while she missed her father sorely, she wondered what Christmastime might be like in a place such as Downton Abbey.

And then, one morning, the most extraordinary thing happened, an event so wondrous that it brought Elsie out of her melancholy once and for all. She woke up, made her way to the window, threw open the curtains, and …

 _Snow!_

The ground was covered in a soft blanket of white, the sunlight bouncing off of it in an almost blinding way. It had been many years since their part of England had seen a snowfall such as this, and even as she stood wrapped up in her dressing gown and robe, Elsie could almost hear the crunch of the snow beneath her feet and smell the crisp, clean air outside.

She wondered if Mr. Carson liked snow.

And then, seconds later, she smiled, bemused by the notion that _his_ reaction had been her first thought.

 _Well._

She quickly fetched the water for the basin and then washed, dressed, and headed downstairs.

Elsie had an idea - a glorious, lovely idea - and she just might be able to pull it off with a little help from Mrs. Patmore.

oOoOoOoOo

It was the bright light peeking through the heavy draperies that woke the butler that morning. It was unusual, and his heart jolted a bit at the thought that he may have overslept. His feet hit the floor and he shuddered at the chill he felt, reaching for his robe and pulling it tightly around himself as he stood. He contemplated tossing a log on the fire, but if he was already up late then he'd surely not be spending more time in his room anyhow.

He pulled open the drapes and gasped, his eyes falling on the loveliest scene: a snowy white field, stretching as far as his eye could see, with a clear sky still tinged pink from the sunrise. It had been ages since he'd seen snowfall at Downton, since Princess Mary had been a very young girl, in fact, and the sight of all the white mesmerized him for a moment.

He wondered if Mrs. Hughes had ever seen snowfall like this.

And then he wondered why he even cared.

 _Still …_

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before dashing to the wardrobe to take out his livery. After dressing himself in record time, he checked his pocket watch to verify that he was not, in fact, late for breakfast, and he headed down to the kitchens.

He had an idea - one that he thought rather marvelous, actually - but he'd need a bit of help from Mrs. Patmore to make it all happen.

oOoOoOoOo

"Let me see if I've got this right," Mrs. Patmore said slowly, her eyes focused on the somewhat nervous housekeeper before her. "You want to surprise Mr. Carson with a picnic on the coldest, snowiest day of the year."

"Not a picnic, exactly," Elsie hedged, cursing herself as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve and felt her cheeks grow pink. "It's only, well … I've been rather distant with you all lately, particularly with him, and I feel I owe him a little kindness. The snowfall was so unexpected, and it might do us all some good to get outside for a bit. The air is so crisp and clean after it snows … and it can be quite delightful to wake one's senses now and then, can't it?" Her eyes were resolutely trained on the dough as she wondered what else she could say to convince the woman.

"If you say so," Mrs. Patmore replied. She turned the dough she'd been letting rise out onto the counter and began kneading it.

"You all could join us if you like," Elsie added. She didn't even _want_ that, but it would be better than nothing at all.

"I don't think so," Mrs. Patmore said, pushing and pulling at the dough with something akin to ferocity.

"Well, perhaps not, then …" Elsie was losing ground, and she wasn't sure what to say to gain the woman's help. It was odd, really, as Mrs. Patmore had been nothing but kind to her since she'd arrived. It wasn't as if she wanted an _extravagant_ favor ...

"Alright, I suppose you're not really asking for much," the cook replied, still kneading away but now staring at Elsie with her eyebrows raised. "But do you really think the man himself would be amenable to a stroll through the snow? Have you actually _met_ ourMr. Carson? The man doesn't know _how_ to have fun. I'm not sure he's acquainted with the word at all! And in the snow?"

"Oh, hogwash," Elsie said, brushing a bit of flour off her skirt and refusing to meet the cook's gaze. "Everyone likes snow. And even you said yourself once that he wasn't _al_ _ways_ so difficult!"

"Hmph!"

Elsie looked up at last. "Are you willing, or not? Two flasks of hot cider, a few biscuits, a bit of that tart, perhaps … that's all! It's hardly a 'picnic,' as you put it. I just need it all in a small sack so that I can bring it outside without much fuss."

"I suppose so," Mrs. Patmore said, giving in at last. "For two o'clock or thereabouts?"

Elsie nodded, beaming at her success. "Thank you, yes. That will be perfect."

The cook smirked as the housekeeper turned and left the room. She turned their conversation over in her head again, rather proud of herself for having managed to pull it off so flawlessly.

"Here we are, Mrs. Patmore," came Daisy's voice from the doorway. The young girl stopped to remove her coat and boots before picking up her basket and heading over to the counter. "There isn't quite as much snow as it looked earlier, so the walk to the barn wasn't that bad. Not many eggs, though."

"No," the cook said, sliding the dough over to Daisy and peeking into the basket. "There never are in the winter."

"Was that Mrs. Hughes?" Daisy asked, nodding to the now-empty door.

"It was," Mrs. Patmore chuckled, turning to her girl. "And you'll never guess what she wanted."

Daisy's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Some hot drink and a few biscuits for this afternoon. Oh, and the apple tart. Thought she'd ask Mr. Carson if he'd fancy a stroll in the snow!"

Daisy's jaw dropped. "But … But Mr. Carson … when he came down earlier … he had the same plan!"

"I know," Mrs. Patmore giggled. "What are the chances of that?"

"What did you say to her?"

"Well," Mrs. Patmore said, stacking the dirty bowls to be washed, "I played it like I'd not yet seen Mr. Carson today at all. Told her I'd be able to put together what she requested, and suggested she stop by around two o'clock."

"But that's when he's coming by!" Daisy said, shocked.

"I know that." The cook rolled her eyes. "Imagine their surprise when they arrive at the same time, and instead of a small bag, I've got a basket all packed with her requests _and_ his!"

"You don't think he'll be cross, do you?"

"No, child," Mrs. Patmore said softly. "He won't be cross."

Daisy stopped kneading and looked up. "Mrs. Patmore …" she asked, her brow furrowed as she worked something out, "you don't think … well, that he … and _she …_ "

"I do indeed, Daisy," she murmured. "There's something there between those two - mark my words."

"You think she might be the one?" Daisy whispered, her eyes alight with hope.

Mrs. Patmore nodded slowly. "I believe she could be. But we need to let _them_ sort all that out, hm? Our job is to prepare the best basket ever, filled with each of their favorite things."

"Like apple tart," Daisy giggled, and Mrs. Patmore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"Like apple tart," she agreed. "A large piece; one that they have to _share._ "

oOoOoOoOo

Promptly at two o'clock, Mrs. Patmore closed the lid on the basket sitting on her wooden table and began wiping her hands on her apron. She didn't have to wait a minute more before she heard and saw the two heads of house walk into her kitchen through separate doorways.

"What are you doing in here?" His voice sounded harsh, though his words were born out of surprise.

"Well, I didn't think I needed an excuse to visit Mrs. Patmore in the kitchens," she snapped back with a little sting to her words.

They stood staring at one another for a long moment, neither one willing to admit the true reason for their visit to the kitchen, waiting to see what the other one had in mind.

"Right, well, you can both start by thanking me for this pretty little basket here! I believe, Mrs. Hughes, you'll find the biscuits, hot cider, and apple tart in there, as you requested, for Mr. Carson." She then turned her attentions to the butler. "And you, Mr. Carson, will also find the shortbread, made fresh this morning per your instructions, and some roast beef sandwiches. I believe your words went something along the lines of how much you 'noticed Mrs. Hughes enjoying the meal' and how you thought 'sandwiches would travel easier?'"

The two heads of staff looked stunned and were left utterly speechless. Suddenly, Elsie looked over at Mr. Carson and burst into peals of laughter. "I was hoping to invite you to accompany me on a stroll in the snow," she finally confessed.

"Seems we were of the same mind, Mrs. Hughes, for I was going to suggest we take a turn about the gardens to enjoy the snowfall. I thought the fresh air might do us both some good."

"Right," said Mrs. Patmore. "Well, you can both do me some good by taking this basket off my work table or we'll be eating porridge for dinner. Enjoy your outing, and do try not to catch a cold. The last thing I want to be doing this early in the winter is making pots and pots of chicken stew."

Charles dared to steal a glance at Mrs. Hughes before tugging firmly on the end of his waistcoat. "Mrs. Hughes, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk this afternoon? It'd be a pity to let all of this food, and our shared idea, go to waste."

"I'd be honored, Mr. Carson. Let me fetch my coat, hat, and gloves, and I'll meet you in my sitting room. Won't be a tick," she said before giving Mrs. Patmore a grateful smile then returning to her sitting room.

"Mr. Carson?"

He turned and stepped back into the kitchen at Mrs. Patmore's bequest.

"I swear to you, it was her own idea. She came to me not long after you'd left and requested the same thing of me. Said she wanted to do you a kindness. Take my advice, and don't get in the way of your own happiness."

"I don't know what you mean, but thank you for the treats. I'm sure we will enjoy them. Apple tart, you say? She actually remembered that it's my favorite dessert?" His words were soft, as if he couldn't quite wrap his mind around her remembering and wanting to please him.

"As I said, she had her own ideas of what she wanted. I merely helped you both out with one deed. Now, you'd best be going or she'll think you've gone off the idea. And I don't want you back in my kitchens, either of you, until that basket is empty!" Without another word, Mrs. Patmore turned around and began working on dinner preparations.

With her words still ringing in his ears, Charles returned to his pantry and quickly grabbed his hat, coat, scarf, and gloves before taking a few quick strides to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. The door was ajar so he eased it open, only to find her patting the back of her hair and looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"Are you all set?" he asked, his voice much softer and kinder than his earlier greeting.

She whirled around, clearly startled by his appearance. Normally, she could hear him as he approached her door, but she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice his footsteps. "Yes. I've been excited about this all morning. I hope … well, what Mrs. Patmore said … about the basket … it was meant to be a surprise."

"And so it was," he said, offering her his arm. "Seems we were thinking along the same lines, though, perhaps, if I may be so bold, we had different reasons."

She stepped out into the bright sunlight and took a deep and cleansing breath, releasing it slowly and turning to give him a warm smile. "Might I inquire as to your reasons for making the request?"

He cleared his throat and indicated that they should begin their walk. They had gone a good distance from the house before he answered her question. "I realized how difficult our journey must have been for you, going back and seeing Glasgow. Since then, you've not been yourself. I had hoped that you might, if you were so inclined, open up to me, assuming there were things you wanted to discuss or what have you."

"Yes, it has been difficult. I'll not deny it. My sleep has been interrupted most nights, and I haven't felt quite like myself. I'm sorry if it has created problems, though I have tried very hard not to let it interfere with my work or make additional work for you."

"No! Nothing of the sort. I simply felt your absence keenly, even though I saw you daily." The words had tumbled from his mouth before he had a chance to stop them, to truly think about how they would sound or the implications behind them. He felt his ears warm from the embarrassment he now felt.

"What a lovely thing to say, Mr. Carson. Thank you for that. And I will admit that part of my reason for asking Mrs. Patmore for assistance this morning was because I was feeling much the same way. I woke up feeling more like myself than I have in weeks, and I wanted to do something nice for you for being so understanding, not pushing me to speak about my troubles but being a steadying presence nonetheless." She gave his arm a little squeeze and smiled. "So, it would seem we truly were on the same page."

They had rounded the house and were in the back gardens near the little gazebo when Charles guided her to the somewhat secluded spot. "Shall we take our little picnic here, then? At least it's not covered in snow, and we are offered a little shelter from the bitter cold."

"Lovely idea, and just what I had in mind," she said. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were reading my mind, Mr. Carson. Is that another of your wonderful talents which you've yet to divulge?"

He laughed heartily as he sat down the basket and used his gloved hand to brush off the little bench inside the gazebo. "If it were, I can assure you, Mr. Barrow would be in more trouble on a daily basis, and I wouldn't be constantly trying to decipher what goes on in Daisy's head!"

One by one, they pulled items from the basket and spread them out for their impromptu picnic. It wasn't until Elsie reached inside and pulled out the large slice of apple tart, packaged with two forks, that she realized that the cook might be having a little laugh at their expense.

"Where's the other slice?" Charles asked, watching as his companion stared at the tart in her hand. "Seems like an awfully large slice, even for me," he said before peeking into the basket only to find it empty.

"I believe we are to share," she offered, holding up two forks. "Though it's your favorite, so you should have it. I have more than enough here, and if I eat even a fraction of this, I won't want my supper."

"Nonsense! We should share it, and what we don't eat now, we might finish it off later, perhaps over a glass of wine or sherry. Of course, if you'd rather turn in early, I would completely understand."

"And give you the chance to eat the rest of it on your own? I think not, Mr. Carson. Besides, it's been too long since we've shared a nightcap. I'd enjoy sharing one this evening." She glanced up at him through her long lashes and smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her as she envisioned a warm fire, a glass of wine, the apple tart, and Mr. Carson in her sitting room after everyone else had gone to bed.

As her mind wandered a bit, she began to think back on her days at Downton. When she first met this man, she had assumed he was mean and coarse, almost unrefined in dealing with the unexpected. Now, all she could see was the sweetness and kindness behind that gruff exterior. After weeks of sharing her days with him, she dared to admit to herself that he was very dear to her, and she wondered why she hadn't seen that side of him before.

Charles sat motionless for a moment and couldn't believe his ears. It sounded as though she, too, had missed their evenings together. It was almost too much to be believed. He watched as she slowly removed her gloves, exposing her slender fingers to the chill in the air, and his mind filled with thoughts of taking those hands between his, warming them, holding them. But, then she said something, and his mind was brought back to the present, and he cursed himself for thinking that she could ever think of him in such a way. Still, he'd never seen her look at him in quite that way before, and it sparked a glimmer of hope within him.

As the two sat close and shared the contents of the basket, they were unaware that they were being watched. From one of the upstairs windows, Thomas caught a glimpse of them at the gazebo, and he stopped to spy, curious as to why the butler and housekeeper might be outside on such a cold day.

"What are you doing up here at this time of day?" Mr. Bates asked as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"I could ask you the same thing, though at least I have a valid reason. Clocks don't wind themselves, you know, or have you forgotten that, unlike you, I actually have a job to do around here?"

"Then perhaps you might want to get back to that job instead of wasting time daydreaming."

"For your information, I wasn't daydreaming. I was watching Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. They're outside and from the looks of it, they're having a little snack and a chat. Don't believe me? Take a look for yourself."

Mr. Bates walked over to the window and stared down in the direction of the couple. He watched as they nibbled on various foods and chatted, and he was astonished to see them suddenly dissolve into laughter. "Well, who'd have thought that those two would come together on their own?"

"Who, indeed? No sense in getting our hopes up just yet. It's only one outing. Better wait and see, a few days more, before we start planning our futures outside of his cursed house."

"Ever the optimist, eh, Mr. Barrow?" Bates asked with sarcasm dripping from every word. "From the looks of things, I'd say they're growing closer and closer. When was the last time you saw Mr. Carson enjoying himself so much, laughing as frequently, or even entertaining the notion of a picnic, much less one in the snow?"

Never one who liked to be proven wrong, Thomas cleared his throat and pursed his lips. "I think it's time for a smoke break. If I'm quiet, I might even pick up a word of two from their conversation." He started to leave, but Mr. Bates caught him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"She's our only hope of having the curse broken, Mr. Barrow. Don't do anything that could damage that for them or for us. If they're finding happiness together, don't spoil it. We will know soon enough if she's the one."

Thomas was about to make a witty comeback when they heard a high pitched squeal coming from the yard below. Rushing back to the window, they were shocked to find Mrs. Hughes running and hiding behind the large tree and Mr. Carson bent at the knees.

"Looks like he's … no, he can't be!" The two men watched as Mr. Carson opened his arms and began pulling snow towards him, forming it into an impressive snowball. Just as he looked up in search of Mrs. Hughes, she peeked out from behind the tree and tossed a snowball of her own, hitting Mr. Carson squarely in the chest. Without any warning and forgetting his strength, he tossed his own snowball, hitting Mrs. Hughes in the face and throat, knocking her off her feet. Both, Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates gasped, worried for her safety and Mr. Carson's nerves.

"Mrs. Hughes! I'm so very sorry. Are you … hurt?" Mr. Carson was at her side and kneeling beside her in an instant, taking her gloved hand in his and helping her to sit up. Instead of an answer, though, he was rewarded with a burst of laughter and a handful of snow directly to his face.

"Oldest trick in the book, Mr. Carson," she laughed so hard her sides hurt and happy tears spilled down her cheeks. "Fake an injury. Lure over the victim, then smother him with snow." When she finally managed to catch her breath, she looked up into his warm, brown eyes, his remarkably bushy eyebrows sprinkled with snow, and felt a wave of happiness and something else, something she wasn't quite ready to name, wash over her. She brushed her fingers over his cheek and collar. "Goodness, we must get you inside. You'll catch a cold, and the last thing we need is for Mrs. Patmore to have to make that chicken stew."

"Consider yourself lucky, Mrs. Hughes. I was just about to pelt you with so much snow, you'd still be thawing out this time next week." From the smile curling about his lips and the mirth in his voice, she knew he was teasing her, and her heart beat a little bit faster at the thought. She gladly accepted his extended hand, placing hers firmly in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. "Seems you're covered in snow, too. Perhaps it's time we returned and changed before dinner. It wouldn't do for us to _both_ catch a chill. We'd never hear the end of it."

As they were packing up the remainder of the contents from their basket, Elsie looked over at Mr. Carson, stealing a glance from the corner of her eyes as he took great care in folding their napkins and stored each item away carefully. She'd never imagined their outing ending in a snowball fight, but she couldn't remember a time when she'd enjoyed herself more. Everything about him today seemed new, almost alarming when she considered her opinions of him at the beginning of their acquaintance. She'd never thought she could be happy here, happy working side by side with this man. She would be the first to admit that he was no Prince Charming, but there was something in him that most people didn't get a chance to see. This man had a warm and caring heart, and he was slowly revealing that to her, little by little, day by day … one snowball at a time.

The conversations at dinner were lively, though Mr. Barrow remained quiet, listening to everyone and taking in all the details. He paid particular attention to the butler and housekeeper's conversation, hoping to glean some juicy tidbit that he might be able to use or maybe share with the others later. Unfortunately, he was sorely disappointed to discover their discussion centered on some Dickens novel. And, despite what he'd witnessed from the upstairs window, their demeanor hadn't changed at all. They were still very much the respectable butler and housekeeper of the household. Inwardly, he sighed. He would tell Mrs. Patmore what he saw, though he would also add that he doubted anything would ever come of that little adventure. And by the way Anna was looking at the two figureheads, Mr. Bates had already told her everything, if that doe-eyed, lovesick expression on her face was anything to go by.

After everyone had retired for the evening, Charles found himself nervously standing outside Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. He couldn't deny that their outing earlier in the day had been the highlight of his year, of many years, in fact. He couldn't remember a time when he'd enjoyed himself more or laughed so hard.

"Are you going to come in or are we drinking in the hallway tonight, Mr. Carson?" Her Scottish accent was a little more pronounced, and it sounded as if she added a few extra "Rs" to his name, something which caused him a small amount of happiness.

"We could share this in the hallway, though it's a bit drafty. I was hoping for a warm fireplace and some pleasant company," he countered, pushing the door open with his foot and gently kicking it closed with this heel. "Ah, there's the apple tart. You might have told me you had it in here already. I spent the last five minutes looking for it and cursing the thief under my breath when I didn't find it."

"Never let it be said that you aren't serious about your apple tarts, Mr. Carson! I wrapped it up and brought it in here as soon as we got back. I didn't want anyone tossing it away or eating it by accident."

"You think of everything. I should have known."

"It's my job to think of everything. It's all part of being a good housekeeper and staying on top of things."

He offered her the glass of red wine and waited until she took a sip before tasting it for himself, letting the smooth flavor glide down his throat, warming him from within. "Ah, you won't go far wrong with a Margaux."

She closed her eyes and savored the taste on her lips and tongue, fully appreciating the richness of the wine, detecting subtle hints of flowers, berries, and an almost earthiness that reminded her of summer days. "I've never had this before, but I can certainly see why you enjoy it so much, Mr. Carson. I do believe it's one of the best wines I've ever had."

"It's one of my favorites. I wouldn't normally pair it with apple tart, but, as you say, it has that hint of hearty earth tones. Lamb or some sort of roasted meat is usually its companion. But, as I said, you can't go wrong with it at any time."

A comfortable silence fell upon them as they listened to the logs crackling in the fireplace and slowly sipped their wine, each reliving their happy excursion from earlier in the day. It was Elsie who finally broke the silence.

"I want to thank you for indulging me this afternoon, Mr. Carson. I …"

"No need to thank me. I should be the one thanking you."

"Please, let me finish or I fear I'll never say what needs saying." She paused for a moment, giving him a chance to silence her with another interruption. Hearing none, she continued. "I have not been myself lately, though this afternoon, with you, I felt happier than I have been in months, years maybe. At first, it was homesickness, missing my father, worrying about him. I still do those things, but I keep myself busy, and I enjoy my work so I've less time to wallow in those dark thoughts. I'm grateful for the use of the library, so many books at my disposal which I'd never have known existed without your generosity. And now … with the holidays coming up on us … well, that's always been my favorite time of the year. A part of me, deep down inside, finally realized that I won't be spending Christmas at home. I'll be here. And while I'm sure it's going to be lovely, something magical even, it will be my first Christmas away from my father." She swirled the wine around in her glass, studying it as if it were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

Charles listened with an open heart and mind, truly hearing her and taking note of the sadness in her voice. He could vaguely remember what it had been like for him during that first Christmas after his mother had passed away, the first one after the family had fled from the abbey, and all the unhappy ones since. This year, however, he'd found himself looking forward to the festivities. He'd hoped to surprise everyone with a tree in the Great Hall, perhaps even a little something for each of them, though he'd hoped to seek Mrs. Hughes's advice on that little detail.

Still, the longer he sat in her presence and listened to her lovely voice, he found himself slipping into happier moments, both from childhood and early adulthood. He discovered that the memories of happier days didn't sting as much as they once had, the times when bitterness had gripped his heart so tightly. Now, with each passing day, he found he was discovering new reasons to smile, renewed joy in his work, and a sense of pride that accompanied the thoughts of a house running well with two competent people at its helm.

Bringing himself back to the present and refocusing on the things she was saying, he began to formulate a plan, another opportunity for them to share something private. It wouldn't be much, and he was sure Mrs. Patmore would assist him once more, but in all the years he had been the butler of Downton Abbey, he had rarely asked for anything. Surely, the cook wouldn't mind lending her services once more, and he knew she was very friendly with the housekeeper. He would ask her first thing in the morning and pray she was agreeable. And with that notion in mind, he found the words tumbling from his mouth.

"Mrs. Hughes, would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow evening? Just the two of us, perhaps in the main dining room once again? It would give me great pleasure if you'd agree. No work, mind you … just dinner." He tugged nervously on the end of his waist coat and cleared his throat, waiting with baited breath until she answered.

"It would be my great pleasure, Mr. Carson." She offered him a shy smile, one he had never seen before, and she felt her cheeks warm a little at the thought of his invitation.

"Wonderful. I'll sort out the details with Mrs. Patmore in the morning. But for now, young lady, I propose we clear away these things and get to our respective beds. There's still a household to run and staff to manage."

"Right you are. Why don't you go on up? I will rinse our glasses and put the dishes in the sink." She stood and followed him into the kitchen, watching as he gently placed the tray beside the sink and proceeded to do just as she had suggested. "That was very kind of you to clean those so Daisy doesn't have to worry with that in the morning."

He brushed aside her compliment. "No sense in making work for others. I may be the butler, but I've washed a dish or two in my day," he said with a slight chuckle. He watched her smile, and it warmed his heart. There was a time, not so long ago, that he wouldn't have even considered washing a glass or how his callous actions might impose additional work on the others in the household. Now, because of her example of kindness and gentleness, he was growing, learning, and starting to take more consideration of others.

"A man of mystery, if ever there was one," she teased as they began walking side by side up the winding staircases, chatting amicably until their paths diverged, leading them to their own bedrooms where sleep would not come easily, each replaying the glorious day in their minds. The last thought before either of them slipped into slumber was of the upcoming dinner and the feelings blooming deep inside their hearts.

 **A/N:** Sounds like things are beginning to progress nicely for our "beastly" butler and our "belle" of a housekeeper! We want to thank you all for your continued love and support of our story, each and every reviewer, especially the guest reviewers that we cannot thank properly, and for all of the Tumblr love! You guys are the best and have made this adventure so much fun with your enthusiasm and messages!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Elsie practically floated into her room that night. After leaving Mr. Carson at the top of the steps so that she could head to her room and he could continue on to his, she'd felt his fingertips brush her elbow as she turned away. It had been hard to tell if he'd done it on purpose, but his touch had been electric, reminiscent of their first meeting in the stables and of something she'd previously thought really did only exist in novels.

She couldn't possibly sleep. Making her way to the wardrobe on the far side of the room, she contemplated their planned dinner for the following evening. She had no idea what he had in mind, really, except that it would be just the two of them and they'd be eating in the formal dining room instead of the servants' hall below.

And she knew she could _never_ arrive to dinner tomorrow night in the dress she had on.

Elsie opened the door, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she perused the contents in the far back of the wardrobe. There were more things in there than she'd originally thought the first night she'd arrived, and she began pulling them out and laying them over the bed in two distinct piles, which her mind labeled as _possibly_ and _definitely not_ … the latter growing increasingly higher the further she went into the wardrobe.

After completely emptying its contents, Elsie closed the door and turned back to the array of dresses she'd set aside. There were petticoats, jackets, and that silly parasol as well, and she ignored those for the moment, focusing instead on the dresses themselves. She picked up one, then another, holding them against her front and examining the look in the long mirror. It took quite a while to whittle the pile down, and when she'd just settled her mind on her three favorites, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in!" she called, and she was happy to see Phyllis Baxter enter the bedroom.

"My, my," the maid chuckled. "What's all this?" Her eyes roamed the frocks on the bed, hope springing in her chest as she realized there would be few reasons for Mrs. Hughes to be sifting through the contents of the wardrobe.

"It's silly, probably," Elsie admitted. "You see, Mr. Carson has suggested that we might dine together tomorrow." _Alone,_ she thought. "In the formal dining room again."

"Ah, I see. And you are concerned your evening dress won't be enough?"

"Precisely." Elsie reached out to finger the edge of one of the gowns. "Last time it felt quite out of place, and I feel like this time …"

She needed no more words; Miss Baxter was perceptive enough, and she knew where this was going.

"Well, how do they fit?"

Elsie laughed. "Probably not at all! I've not tried them yet."

"Well," Phyllis replied, "why don't we have a look? Are those the ones you've narrowed it down to?"

"Mm-hm," Elsie said, gathering the three in her arms.

"All right. Why don't you try those on while I get the rest of this sorted?" Phyllis said, already setting aside the petticoats she knew went with the three dresses in the housekeeper's arms. "And then we'll see what we're dealing with."

"It's rather late," Elsie realized suddenly. "Are you sure?"

But Phyllis just smiled softly. "Oh, I'm sure. Don't you worry, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie nodded, then proceeded into the adjacent dressing room with the gowns she'd selected. She tried the first on, but she knew immediately that no tightening of her corset would make _that_ one fit. She discarded it and tried the second dress, a deep red one with a rather low neckline. It favored her coloring, and she set it aside.

And then she stepped into the _third_ dress, vaguely aware that Miss Baxter had come in to assist her.

"Ohhh," Phyllis gasped, and Elsie turned to see her reflection in the mirror.

She was _speechless._ The gown was gorgeous, and while she felt it was much too formal for the evening Mr. Carson had planned, she couldn't imagine taking it off and choosing the other.

The dress itself was quite full, and Elsie knew immediately that a petticoat would give the skirt the body it needed. The material was gold, multi-layered with taffeta and chiffon, and it was sleeveless. She'd never worn such a thing, but as she twisted and turned before the mirror, the fabric sparkled, light reflecting off of it in a similar manner to how the blonde highlights showed in her dark tresses.

"It's a bit long," she said to Miss Baxter. "Even with the petticoat raising it a bit."

"Let's get it buttoned and then we'll see."

Elsie stood still as she was buttoned into the dress, her head shaking slowly from side to side.

"I've never worn anything like this in my life," she breathed. "Is it too much?"

Phyllis finished the last button and stepped back.

"No. I think it's perfect. And I also think you're right; it's too long. But don't you worry about that. I can take care of it, and it'll be ready to go for you tomorrow."

Elsie turned to face her, aghast. "Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that! It'll take half the night!"

But the maid only smiled. "I've worked by candlelight before, Mrs. Hughes. And besides, tomorrow is a light day around here anyhow, according to your rota. I'll sleep in a bit if I need to."

Elsie turned back to her reflection, and a smile broke out on her face as she met Miss Baxter's gaze in the mirror.

"All right, then," she said softly. "Thank you."

oOoOoOoOo

Charles, meanwhile, was positively giddy as he made his way to his rooms. He walked straight through the sitting area, not even paying an ounce of attention to the painting over the fireplace. Gone were the days where he would be looking back, pining away for what he'd had and lost.

He felt like a different man now that Mrs. Hughes had become part of the household. He could talk with her in a way he'd never been able to do with anyone else. He actually enjoyed the time they spent together; it wasn't always work, and their interactions never felt forced. She enquired about him, about what made him tick, and she wasn't afraid to point out small things that he knew the other staff were afraid to ever even mention. She was something special, indeed.

It was why he'd felt the need to touch her.

Nothing inappropriate, of course, and he wasn't sure she'd even noticed. But as she turned away to head to her room, he made sure his fingertips brushed her elbow. It was the smallest of gestures, but it had completely electrified him. He'd noticed that feeling before when they'd inadvertently touched. The first time he'd thought himself daft, but now he knew differently.

He'd come to _care_ for her.

As if bidden solely by his thoughts, the rose glowed from its tucked-away spot in the corner.

Charles took a moment to look at it, noticing how few petals remained. It made his heart heavy as he realized that their time was running out, but now there was actually some _hope._

If he could make a go of their dinner the next night, if he could let the best parts of himself show … if he could show that he _cared_ …

Mrs. Hughes might actually be the one to break the spell that had cursed him (and everyone around him, by extension) all those years ago, and Charles had finally realized it.

He made his way to the massive wardrobe in his bedroom, throwing open the doors and pawing through the various tuxedos that made up his livery. So many of them had remained unused for quite a while, and he'd forgotten about one that was tucked _way_ in the back. He reached for it, remembering the cut of the jacket, the tails, and the stiffness of the shirt collar.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come," he called, and his eyebrows rose in surprise as Mr. Molesley entered.

"Mr. Carson? I just wanted to …" The man's voice trailed off as he saw what was clutched in the butler's hand. "My, my. You haven't worn that one in years!"

"I am aware of that, Mr. Molesley. What is it that brings you up so late?"

He looked confused for a moment, but then his face brightened. "Oh! Right. I noticed that you hadn't locked up downstairs, and I wondered if I might do it for you."

Charles's brow furrowed instantly. "I didn't lock up?"

Mr. Molesley's head shook furiously. "No. Very odd, really, only … well, Miss Baxter mentioned you were rather busy today. And it's no matter! I'm happy to help in any way I can."

Charles looked at his footman's eager expression - almost _too_ eager, Charles often thought - and he had an idea.

"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Molesley, I would appreciate that. In fact, I have another matter with which I may require your assistance."

"Really? I mean, of course, Mr. Carson. Anything!"

Charles held out the tuxedo. "Do you think you might brush this and check the buttons? Make sure there are no tears or small snags? I'd like to wear it for dinner tomorrow?"

"For dinner?" Mr. Molesley laughed, but his cheer abruptly ended when he saw the look on Mr. Carson's face. "I mean … Certainly, Mr. Carson."

Charles sighed in relief, but his nervousness returned when he saw Mr. Molesley's face brighten once again.

"Do you have … _special_ dinner plans, Mr. Carson?" he asked quietly, eyes wide.

Charles couldn't hide his smile entirely, but he was afraid to be too optimistic, so he settled for a brief answer that wasn't exactly a lie.

"Perhaps, Mr. Molesley. Perhaps."

The younger man nodded, taking the suit from the butler's hands.

"I'll work on it now," he said. "It'll be hanging in your sitting room come morning, ready and waiting."

"Thank you, Mr. Molesley. I do appreciate that."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Carson."

As the first rays of dawn broke through the curtains covering Elsie's bedroom window, they brought with them a sense of excitement, hope, and nervousness, all of which settled in her belly. Her dreams had been filled with various images of Mr. Carson. Some of them were more detailed than others, but each time she woke, her heart fluttered as she remembered his invitation to dinner and the fact that it would be only her second time dining alone with a man who was not her Da – and that both of those had been with Mr. Carson. There was something very thrilling about it all, knowing that out of all the women in the household, women he had known much longer than her, that he wanted to make a special effort to share a quiet and uninterrupted meal with her.

 _Again._

Throughout the rest of the day, Charles tried to keep himself occupied, and more importantly, out of Mrs. Hughes's way. It wasn't that he was afraid he might say or do something to upset her. No, he had learned since her arrival to control his temper, to think before barking an order, and to fully appreciate the efforts of others working in the household. All of those things he could directly attribute to her influence. He had learned rather quickly that she would not tolerate his moods nor a disrespectful attitude, either from himself or someone else on staff. In truth, the reason he had avoided her was because he was worried she might change her mind and suddenly decline his invitation, though there was nothing to indicate that was even a remote possibility. Just that morning at breakfast, she had quietly prepared his tea without his asking, and as she rose to start her rounds, she had quietly expressed her excitement about their dinner plans so that only he could hear.

Now that he had made it through the day, having taken lunch in his pantry instead of with the others, he climbed the endless stairs to his room. As promised, Mr. Molesley had brushed and mended his tuxedo and even polished his shoes until they were shining better than they had in years. He made a mental note to thank the footman for doing such excellent work and for going the extra bit when it was unrequested. For all of his awkwardness, Charles realized, Mr. Molselsy's heart was always in the right place but he was just a bit clumsy in his delivery.

While everyone else in the household had worked hard and tried to keep their head down so as not to rile either Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes, there was a nervous energy floating through the air. Everyone, from Mr. Barrow to Daisy felt it, though few openly acknowledged it. Charles had instructed the footman to polish all of the silver until he could see his face in the butter knife. Elsie had requested that her maids dust the formal dining room and polish the large oak table. Mrs. Patmore had sent Andrew out to the gardens to collect fresh cuttings to serve as a centerpiece, and Mr. Bates had been given a very special task by the butler. It was so secretive that the rest of the staff didn't see him for most of the morning, and when he appeared at lunch, he merely smiled and deflected all questions directed his way.

With the appointed hour quickly approaching, Elsie closed her books at her desk and made her way into the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore had instructed her to stay away, lest she spoil the surprises, but she simply couldn't go upstairs without letting the cook know of her plans and to offer a word of appreciation for her efforts.

"I know you said to stay out of your kitchen, but I thought I'd warn you that I'm going up. I want to take a quick bath before dinner this evening." Elsie hurriedly glanced around the room, honing in on a few preparations and silently speculating on the dishes she would enjoy this evening.

"Very well. Be off with you and let me get on! I have your dinner to prepare, and I don't want anything to go wrong with it. I haven't been this excited to cook since the first day I fed you when you walked though those doors," she said with a friendly smile. "And, if I'm not mistaken, Anna and Miss Baxter said they'd be up a little later to help you dress for your dinner."

"Goodness. I knew Miss Baxter was helping me with the dress, but Anna never said she was helping, too. I hope they don't think it will take both of them to get me into that fancy gown." She laughed nervously, still wondering if perhaps the dress she'd chosen might be a bit more extravagant. After all, what if she had the wrong idea about the dinner and he merely wanted to discuss the running of the household or some mundane matters. Brushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, she nipped a bite of carrot and began to nibble away.

"Nothing like that at all. I think the girl simply wanted to help. I heard her telling Miss Baxter that she had been awake half the night dreaming of what she could do to your hair. So, you might want to prepare yourself for that, just in case she offers." As Mrs. Hughes reached for another slice of carrot, Mrs. Patmore smacked her hand away. "And if you don't get upstairs and stop eating this food, you'll be late and we both remember how Mr. Carson dislikes tardiness."

Taking that as her cue to leave, Elsie offered the cook an understanding smile and her heartfelt thanks. She, too, had felt the nervous energy thrumming through the household but had tried not to let it unsettle her. Whatever happened this evening, wherever this dinner might lead, she was certain of one thing. Mr. Carson was a man of integrity and honor, and he wouldn't have invited her to dine with him if he'd not been sincere.

Promptly at eight, Charles stood at the top of the staircase which led to the men's corridor in the west wing. He had been ready for over a half hour and had spent that time pacing the floor in his rooms. Both Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates had tried to keep him calm, though their efforts went unappreciated. In the end, the three men stood in silence, two lurking in the shadows and hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Hughes as she arrived. The butler and his companions did not have to wait a moment past the top of the hour and all three gasped when the door to the women's corridor finally opened.

Suddenly very nervous, Elsie stepped onto the landing, and her eyes locked with Mr. Carson's. The first thing she noticed was his new tuxedo. Even from this distance, she could tell it was a different cut and style from his customary livery. She noticed how it accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, flattered his waistline, and made him look even more distinguished than he already did. With Miss Baxter and Anna standing behind her, she heard them wish her well as she began her slow descent down the stairs to the smaller landing which joined the two staircases.

Charles felt his heart leap into his throat as his eyes locked with those of Mrs. Hughes. There was no word for her other than _stunning_. The dress, with its full skirt, delicate neckline, and off-the-shoulder sleeves, had truly transformed his housekeeper into the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He had admired her and appreciated her feminine form before now, but tonight there was something special about her. Her hair, which was usually kept in a tidy twist, was now flowing freely down her back. A small portion of it had been secured at the back of her head and adorned with a lovely tiara, no doubt borrowed from her Ladyship's room. And the color of her cheeks put a smile and a blush on his own face, knowing she had gone to all of this effort just for him. It flattered him and gave him a boost of courage, a nod of hope.

As they both stepped onto the landing, Charles bowed, and Elsie gave a small curtsey.

"Shall we go down to dinner, Mrs. Hughes? His voice cracked a little but soon righted itself as he stood prouder and taller than he had in years.

"It would be an honor, Mr. Carson." She looped her arm through his and together they descended the remainder of the grand staircase and made their way to the dining room, neither one aware of the knowing looks shared between Miss Baxter, Mr. Barrow, Anna, and Mr. Bates.

As they entered the dining room, Charles and Elsie were filled with delight. Candles had been lit all around the room, the flowers on the table were perfectly arranged, and everything shimmered and sparkled under the low lighting. It was truly a romantic setting for a quiet and intimate dinner for two.

"I know it's not conventional, but I told the footmen that I would serve dinner this evening. I didn't want them lingering about while we were trying to dine or have them inadvertently eavesdropping on our conversation. I trust that will be agreeable," he said, tugging nervously on his waist coat.

She took her seat and nodded as he gently pushed the chair to her. "That would be fine, Mr. Carson. As a matter of fact, I don't mind helping you. Are they bringing our dishes up from the kitchen to the little serving room next door?"

"They are, but I will not think of letting you serve yourself this evening. It would be an honor to attend to our courses. So, if you will permit me, I'll pour the wine and then get our first dish. Mrs. Patmore has assured me that she has planned a scrumptious feast for us this evening."

"I do believe she has. I was banished from the kitchens for most of the day. She said she didn't want any distractions, and I was not one to tempt fate today. I'm looking forward to the meal, but more importantly, the company," she added shyly, her eyes darting down to her empty place so he wouldn't see the excitement in her gaze.

As promised, their dinner was a magnificent banquet. The cook and her assistant had truly outdone themselves both in presentation and skill. Each course was more delicious than the last, and Elsie had never been more grateful for small portions and the corset which kept her stomach firmly in check. Charles had also proceeded with caution through the different dishes, not wanting to binge on one dish only to find he wanted more of the next. By the time the dessert trays arrived, both were feeling a little stuffed.

"Shall we delay the dessert course for a few moments, Mrs. Hughes? I fear I won't be able to fully enjoy it if we have it now, though I will defer to your wishes."

She laughed softly. "I was hoping you'd say something like that. As much as I am dying to see what Mrs. Patmore has prepared, I don't think I could eat another morsel. Though, you must promise me we will enjoy our dessert, even if it's as a late night snack like our apple tart from our picnic."

He chuckled. "You have my word, as a gentleman and as a connoisseur of all things sweet." He stood from his place at the table and offered her his hand, which she gladly accepted. "I have arranged for a small surprise. Mr. Bates was most helpful in assisting me and though I was planning it for after dinner, now seems a perfect opportunity to enjoy it. Shall we?"

The twinkle in her eyes gave him all the encouragement he needed as he looped her arm through his and led her into the grand hallway. Again, candles had been lit, recently by the looks of the lack of wax that had dripped down the side, and in the corner of the room, sitting on a well-polished mahogany table, was a rather large gramophone.

"Would you care to dance, this evening, Mrs. Hughes?" He waited until she nodded her consent before he chose the first of the recordings that Mr. Bates had selected and cranked the gramophone until the scratchy sounds of the first strains of music began.

Elsie walked boldly over to Mr. Carson and took his left hand in her right one, gripping it tightly, then guided his right hand to her waist. With ease, they fell into a comfortable rhythm, as if they had been waltzing partners for years instead of mere moments. As each song ended, they took turns changing the recordings, quickly finding that relaxed pace again until they were laughing and twirling around the room like a couple in their first flush of romance. As the last song drew to an end, Elsie rested her head gently on Mr. Carson's chest and slipped her free arm around his waist.

Her boldness shocked them both, though neither made any effort to pull away. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles caught Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates sneaking a peek into the entryway but banished them with one of his withering stares before softening once more as he spoke to Mrs. Hughes.

"Are you happy here, Mrs. Hughes? Truly happy, I mean?"

She pulled back and looked up and saw so many emotions playing across his face. Uncertainty, nervousness, hopefulness, and love all mingled about, settling deeply into his chocolate brown eyes. "Happier than I ever thought I would be, Mr. Carson. And part of me feels guilty about that," she said softly.

"Guilty? Why should you feel that way about happiness? If being here is agreeable, what's there to feel remorseful about?"

She stepped out of his arms, not because she disliked the closeness, but because she needed the distance to form her thoughts, to be able to think clearly and breathe deeply. Being near him, being in his arms had proven most distracting and her head was filled with images from her countless dreams of him. She turned her back to him and answered. "I miss my Da. He's the only family I've ever known, and a part of me feels guilty for finding comfort and happiness here while he has no one to look after him. My heart is of two minds, you see. Part of it will forever reside with him, and now, another part has settled here. If only the two could be reconciled in some way, but I know that's not possible."

Her sadness touched him deep in his soul, and he realized that he had a way of offering her a little comfort, some little touch of home. It wasn't how he had planned the remainder of the evening, but this gesture of goodwill could not and would not be ignored by his own heart.

"Mrs. Hughes, would you care to join me in the library? I've something to show you, though I'll need to go to my rooms first to retrieve it. I know it's late, but please … humor me."

There was a seriousness about him, the way his eyes locked with hers and seemed to see right through her. She couldn't deny that her curiosity was piqued. "Very well. I'll wait for you."

"Perfect," he said, before leaving her abruptly. If she wasn't mistaken, he was surely running up the staircase towards his room.

Within what seemed only a matter of moments, Charles arrived in the library holding something behind his back. "Chosen your next book already, I see?" He watched as she gently cradled the book to her chest.

"Caught me red handed, I'm afraid. I thought a bit of light reading might do the trick and help me sleep. It's been an exciting evening."

"I have something here that might help with that, too. It might help you rest better after having settled your curiosity." He stepped closer to her and slowly brought his hand from behind his back. In it, he held a simple mirror framed in silver. With his free hand, he took the book from hers and placed the object in both her hands. "Careful, it's delicate and irreplaceable."

She looked at the shiny object in her hand and back up at his face. He was watching her intensely, almost as if he was holding his breath. "A mirror? It's lovely, I'll grant you that, but what's so special about it?"

He boldly cupped her elbow in his hand and guided her over to one of the velvet sofas, settling down and patting the seat next to him. When she sat down, he reached over and tapped the glass gently with his finger. "This mirror will show you anything you wish to see … anything, or anyone, at all. You need only ask."

Her eyes filled with unshed tears, his profound gift not going unappreciated. With a shaking voice, she quietly made her request. "I'd like to see my father … please."

Suddenly, the mirror began to glow, the silver frame now bore a bright light before the glass morphed into an image of Colin Hughes. She watched as his face appeared before her. He was all alone inside their little cottage, his body racked with coughs. He looked disheveled and in ill health.

Elsie gasped and clutched the mirror even tighter. "Oh no! He's very sick. He is gravely ill, and he's all alone," she said, tears now spilling freely down her cheeks as her worst nightmares became reality. "He could be dying," she sobbed, "and I never really got to say goodbye."

In that moment, Charles's heart shattered, despite having been so light and carefree only moments earlier. Hearing so much anguish and love in her voice, knowing that she would never forgive him if her father died, and having seen how much the untimely death of her mother haunted her, he made a decision that he realized would seal his fate and the future of everyone under this roof.

"Then, you … you must go to him. Now … Tonight."

She turned and looked at him, confusion written all over her face. "What did you say?"

"You're no longer bound to this house or anyone in it. Your father needs you and you've been free to return home for quite some time. Nothing and no one … not even me … would try to stop you should you wish to return," he said, though every part of him felt physical pain at the thoughts of her leaving, never to return again.

She reached out and touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you! Thank you so much for understanding." She looked back at the mirror one last time. "Hold on, Da! I'm coming. I'm coming home," she said before handing Mr. Carson the mirror and dashing from the room to gather her things before leaving Downton Abbey behind.

 **A/N:** We knew it was coming but it doesn't make it any easier to watch Elsie leave Downton Abbey. But, take heart, friends. This story isn't over yet! We have a few more chapters left to share. If you have a moment, we'd love to receive a review from you! Hugs and Happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate this time of year! Love, ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and Hogwarts Duo. xx


	19. Chapter 19

**New year - new chapter! Thanks to all of you for your amazing comments and reviews. Best wishes from us both for a Happy and Healthy New Year!**

 **Hogwarts Duo & ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**

* * *

Charles remained motionless on the plush sofa, still not quite believing everything that had transpired in the last couple of days. He had been so sure of himself, so excited yesterday during their impromptu picnic. He had been amazed by the sheer fact that they had the same idea about spending time together, away from the prying and inquisitive eyes of everyone under this roof. Spending time with her always made him happy, and today had been the icing on the cake. Stuffy old Carson had actually relaxed a little, and Charles, the man who had been so buried beneath propriety and standards, was allowed to emerge. If anyone, including himself, ever needed proof that that side of him still existed, it was evidenced in their snowball fight.

He smiled bitterly to himself. _Funny how life can change in an instant! But isn't that the very nature of life … not permanence, but flux?_ He had been so happy, hopeful even, that they were becoming friends, could perhaps become something more over time. And yet, he had just sent her away, encouraged her even. As he sat there wallowing in his grief and pity, she was, no doubt, upstairs preparing to leave. Briefly, he wondered if she would feel any remorse or miss anyone within the castle. She seemed to get along well with everyone, even Mr. Barrow, but none would feel her absence more keenly than he.

Somewhere off in the distance, a clock marked the half hour. She would be leaving soon, and he could not let her leave without saying a proper goodbye. He cradled the enchanted mirror in his hands and suddenly had a thought. If she was determined to leave, maybe she wouldn't mind taking a small reminder of her time spent with them. He didn't have much in the way of possessions, but the mirror was his to gift freely. Besides, if he kept it, he feared he might drive himself mad … checking in on her and her father, worrying over things he could not change or watching her fall in love with another, wishing they had been afforded a chance to go another way … together.

Quickly, he made his way downstairs and was fortunate enough to bump into Anna along the way. "Please tell Mrs. Patmore she's needed immediately in the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes is leaving us, and we'll want to make sure she has a few provisions. Oh, and find Mr. Barrow. She will need her horse saddled and ready to ride."

"Yes, Mr. Carson, but, if you don't mind my asking, how long will she be gone?"

"Forever, Anna," he answered sadly, his eyes suddenly focused on the tips of his polished shoes. "Forever,' he reiterated, then walked away with slumped shoulders.

Word filtered quickly throughout the household of Mrs. Hughes's imminent departure, and everyone gathered in the staff dining room to see her off. One by one, the full weight of her departure began to settle among the staff, each one realizing that she had been their greatest hope of breaking the curse and suddenly those hopes were being crushed. Whispers and rumors spread among them as to the true reason for her departure though they were vastly different from the accounts of Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates earlier that afternoon. After all, they had assured everyone that things seemed to be progressing nicely. No one could make any sense of the sudden change of heart.

Mrs. Patmore and Daisy worked quickly to make up a few sandwiches and packed a bottle of cider and some fruit, per Mr. Carson's instructions. She had been more shocked than anyone in the house, with the exception of Mr. Carson, to learn that Mrs. Hughes would be leaving. She sent Daisy off to gather a few apples for Rebekah just as Mrs. Hughes entered the kitchen.

"I guess everyone has heard by now that I'm leaving."

"We have, though we don't know why. Care to explain? I thought things were going so well for you here … and I don't just mean as housekeeper."

"They are … or were. I have loved it here, loved working here. But, it's my father. He's ill, and he needs me. I must go to him, and Mr. Carson has agreed to let me go to him. I just hope I'm able to get to him in time before something dreadful happens."

The cook took a deep breath and released it in the form of a sorrowful sigh. "So, there's no chance of you returning to us, then? You'll just up and leave and never return?"

"Never is a long time, Mrs. Patmore. My first priority is my Da, though I will miss you all very much," she said, suddenly finding herself being drawn into a tight hug from the sobbing cook. She patted her back, and tried to hold back tears of her own, straightening up only when she heard the familiar footsteps of the man she had grown to care for deeply.

"Might I have a private word with you before you leave, Mrs. Hughes? In your sitting room as soon as you've finished here," the butler politely requested. Both he and Elsie instantly recalled that instance where he had demanded her presence and noted how much things had changed between them.

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." She gave Mrs. Patmore one last, tight squeeze before quickly wiping away a few tears from the corners of her eyes. "Well, I'd best see what Mr. Carson wants, and then I'll be off. Thank you for the sandwiches, and for your friendship. I shall never forget you." And before either of them could break down into tears once more, Elsie left the kitchen and made the familiar trek to her sitting room for the last time.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Carson?" Her voice was a little shaky but she tried to offer him a warm smile.

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," he said, tugging nervously on his waistcoat. "I wanted to say a proper goodbye and to thank you for everything you've done for us while you've been housekeeper. You've managed to bring this house back into shape and brightened all of our lives. For that, we … that is to say _I_ … am grateful."

"You don't have to thank me. I was merely doing my job, same as everyone else here. And, for what it's worth, I enjoyed it very much. I'll be sorry to leave, but I appreciate your understanding, your kindness."

"The household won't be the same without you."

"Don't tell me you'll miss me, Mr. Carson," she teased, hoping to make him smile at least once more before she left.

His answer shocked her and made her heart hurt even more than it already was. "I will, Mrs. Hughes, very much, and it costs me nothing to say it." He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. "I have something for you, something to remember us by." He produced the silver mirror and offered it to her.

She reached out with shaking hands and clasped the handle, her fingers brushing lightly over his. She shuddered as that familiar spark between them caused her fingertips to tingle. "Thank you very much. I shall cherish it always, and I hope you don't mind if I use it from time to time to check in on everyone here. I'm going to miss you all so much, especially you."

"I'm sure you'll forget about all of us in time, Mrs. Hughes. After all, you have your father to tend to and your farm."

"I will be busy with those things, certainly, but I could never forget about this glorious house and the glorious people who've lived in it, least of all, you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cherished clock, the one she'd rescued from the stable a lifetime ago. "Here," she said, handing him the small timepiece. "I want you to have this to remember me by. It's not much, but it was a favorite of mine. I hope you'll think of me kindly when you look at it."

"I shall remember you and our lively discussions with fondness." He felt a lump forming in his throat and he knew that if she didn't leave soon, he might ask her to stay. "Thomas has Rebekah saddled for you. Please, travel safely, and I wish you and your father well. I know we didn't start out on good terms, but I hope you feel we are parting on them."

She reached out and gave his arm a tender squeeze. "We are, Mr. Carson. I can assure you, and I'm not just saying that because you're allowing me to leave. I'll miss you, and it costs me nothing to say it." Before she could continue, there was a knock on the door.

"Mrs. Hughes, the horse is ready and everyone is waiting to see you off," Anna said softly.

"Then, you'd best be off. Best of luck," he said before turning to open the door abruptly, beating a hasty retreat to his pantry and closing the door firmly behind him. He waited until everyone had gone outside to wave goodbye before he darted to the nearest window and watched Elsie Hughes ride out of his life, perhaps for good, taking with her a piece of his heart and his hopes for a happy future.

She didn't dare look back at the house or the faces of those she'd grown so terribly fond of during her time at Downton Abbey. And for the first part of her journey home to her Da, all she could see were the unhappy faces of the family she was leaving behind. For that's exactly what they'd become to her … family. Mrs. Patmore was the sister she'd always wanted, and, by extension that made Daisy her niece. Anna and Mrs. Baxter were the daughters she'd dreamed of having when she'd been a younger lass. Mr. Barrow she could easily see as her wayward son … always at odds with his father. At that thought, she gasped softly, as she briefly pictured Mr. Carson as the father figure of that household, and she its mother.

But there was no time to lament things that could never be. Her father, her real family, needed her and with that thought in the forefront of her mind, she spurred Rebekah onward. The distance from the large household to her true home seemed much shorter, and soon, the landscape changed into familiar settings. She recognized the large grove of trees and the lush hillsides. Soon, the village that she loved so much came into view, but what she saw frightened her.

There was some sort of commotion in the village square and lots of angry voices. She debated skirting around the whole ordeal but the fastest way to her home was through the center of town. She would just have to stick to the edges of the outburst and pray that no one, especially Joe Burns or his sidekick, Jos Tufton, noticed her, for she felt certain they were part of the angry crowd.

But, the closer she listened to the raised voices, the more intrigued she became. And then, she heard it! Her father's anguished voice.

"I tell you, it's all true. I'm not insane! You have no right," he said, through a nasty coughing fit.

Immediately, she directed Rebekah towards the rowdy mob and charged through the gathering, causing a few of them to leap out of her way. She dismounted her horse and was instantly at her father's side, hugging him tightly to her.

"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter. Seems you're just in time to watch them take him away, Elsie." Joe stepped forward with a sneer on his face and a wide, toothy grin. "We didn't think you'd mind, seeing as how you've been gone all this time."

"What's the meaning of this? You have no right to do … whatever it is you're planning. My father isn't well. He should be home, in bed, not out here with all of you. Can't you see he's unwell?"

"Oh, I'm afraid he won't be going home. You see, since you left, he's been trying to convince us all that you were being held captive in this grand house. He dreamed up this entire fantastic tale in the vain hopes of evading the tax collector and making an excuse for your disappearance. So, tell us, Elsie ... did you finally get enough of your father's mismanagement of money? Tired of working on a farm that never produces anything?"

"He's not lying, Joe," she shouted loudly enough for everyone gathered to hear. "I was away, though it was for a good reason. I had a job in a magnificent house not far from here. It's the largest house any of us has ever seen! And the people there are so friendly. There's a butler and a cook and …"

"Sounds like someone else has been playing us all for fools," Joe said as he walked around the crowd, hoping to keep their anger riled. "So, while we've been worrying about Elsie Hughes and listening to poor Colin drone on and on about this mythical house in the woods, these two have been plotting to make us all look like fools! Why, I bet you they thought if we all bought into their little ruse, we'd take pity on the old farmer and pay off his debts, just in time for Elsie to return and they could be debt free." He could tell by the way some of the villagers looked at him that he was treading on thin ice so he added a little bit more to the tale. "Or was it that she'd been in the family way and had to escape so we'd be none the wiser? Hoping to avoid scandal on your father's household and this village filled with fine, upstanding people?"

"JOE BURNS! You know Elsie would never do such a thing," Colin shouted at the top of his lungs. "There is a house. She's telling you the truth. I've been trying to tell you all for weeks now. Why won't you listen?"

Elsie suddenly remembered the magical mirror Mr. Carson had given her just before she left. _It will show you anything, anything at all._ "Wait! I can prove to you we're telling the truth." She reached into her pocket and produced the mirror, holding it aloft for all to see.

"A mirror," Jos laughed, nudging a few of the men standing nearby until they were heckling Elsie, too. "How is that supposed to convince us? You probably bought it at some little stall in one of the village fairs."

"It is an enchanted mirror. It will show me whatever I ask of it."

"Delusional, just like your father. I've heard enough of this. Lock them away," Joe bellowed and nodded his head towards the nearby carriage sent from the local asylum. "I'll pay the taxes on their land tomorrow and throw a party at the pub tomorrow night to celebrate ridding the town of these two. They're not quite right in the head, apparently, and we'd all be safer if they were locked up."

Elsie jerked her arm free from one of the men and held the mirror above her head. "Show me Downton Abbey!" she yelled as loudly as she could, and they all watched as the object began to glow in her hands, just as it had earlier when Mr. Carson had showed her how to use it.

Suddenly, everyone began to step closer, including Joe, as the images swirled upon the glass before beginning to form a distinct image. A large house, almost as big as a castle, came into view. It had spires, large windows, impressive doors, a flag waving gently in the breeze, and a large gravel pathway leading up to the front doors. There was a beautiful lawn, still covered in snow, and just beyond the house was a large stable, exactly like the one Colin had described when he'd first returned to the village.

Angered and confused by her display, Joe yanked the mirror from her hands and watched as an image of a tall, handsome man appeared upon the glass. He had an impressive build, dark hair, kind and expressive eyes, and appeared to be wearing formal attire. Joe instantly recalled everything he'd heard about this house and the beastly behavior of the man who lived there.

He knew that if he admitted the truth about what they had said, he'd lose the Hughes farm, and his plans would be ruined. As much as he wanted Elsie for his wife, he couldn't and wouldn't give up the idea of having it all. Besides, as Jos always pointed out, there was no lack of available and willing women in the village, or even the next one over, who would be proud to be his wife. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he quickly formulated a new plan, one that might just earn him more than some farm land. After all, if this castle was as poorly staffed as Colin had wanted them to believe, it would be easy to overtake with enough of the villagers supporting him.

"Witchcraft! You've been in cohorts with black magic, the dark arts," Joe shouted above the din of those assembled. "No wonder you were gone away and Colin had to make up that wild excuse about you being kidnapped. You were off somewhere learning how to make our crops go bad so yours would flourish. I've heard of witches in the forest who would train women like you in their ways and then set them upon unsuspecting villagers. And to think we let you near our children!"

Gasps and murmurs spread quickly through the restless crowd. They didn't want to believe what Joe was saying but they had no other explanation for what they were witnessing with their own eyes. With Jos at the back of the crowd spurring them on with his taunts, the assembled group was growing more and more uneasy, more and more restless until they were on the verge of shouting.

"We should lock them up until we can get to the bottom of this!" one man bellowed.

"I can't believe we let you near our daughters," another woman cried, completely buying in to what Joe and Jos were trying to sell to the villagers.

"We should hunt down these people and put an end to it all! Who's to say what will happen next if we don't?"

Joe watched with glee as the villages began to grow more and more agitated. Seeing this as his opportunity to make his grand move, he held aloft the mirror. "Show us the way to the castle," he roared. "We will follow this magical mirror and tear down the castle, and put an end to this business once and for all. Then, Colin and Elsie Hughes will pay for wreaking havoc on our quiet little village."

The mirror began to glow in Joe's hand and within a matter of a few minutes, the angry mob had mounted their horses and were following Joe Burns and Jos Tufton towards Downton Abbey, intent on seeing its ultimate demise.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Any thoughts Colin Hughes had of putting a stop to Joe Burns were snuffed out the moment he had seen the tax collector sneering at him from across the town square. He watched as the greasy-looking man whispered into Jos Tufton's ear, then as Jos tried to sort something out, his gaze moving between Colin and Elsie, Joe, the tax collector, and back again.

Colin knew the man had made up his mind when his eyes then focused on the small building that served as the town jail as he was nodding a reply.

The mob was forming quickly, and when Colin tried to grab Elsie's hand and leave unobserved, he saw Jos coming over to them, the tax collector and a constable in his wake. Another coughing spell overtook him, and he felt Elsie's warm hand at his back even as the men hastened their approach.

"Da?"

Colin's coughs ceased, but not before the constable had pulled his hands roughly behind his back, tied them together with a piece of rope, and nodded to Jos to grab hold of Elsie.

"Get your hands _off_ of her!" Colin yelled, but his protestations fell on deaf ears.

Elsie watched as her father's eyes widened in fear, and she tried to turn and face him in an attempt to reassure him that they'd be all right. She, too, had worked out what Jos had planned long before they were captured, but what Colin didn't know was that Jos's plan would fail the moment Joe Burns led the mob from the village.

The gate to the jail was unlocked and pulled open by the tax collector, and Elsie and Colin were unceremoniously shoved inside, each of them stumbling and falling as the gate slammed shut again behind them.

Colin watched as the constable clicked the padlock shut.

"That'll hold ye," the man growled. "We don't welcome _your_ sort in this town. You can just stay in there and rot for all I care." Just then, a lightning bolt brightened the sky, and the man laughed. "Oh, look at that," he added. "It looks like a storm's a-brewin'." He spat on the ground. "Pity, eh?"

Elsie and Colin watched as the men headed back up the road - up, as the incline was steep, and they both knew that the jail was located specifically where it sat because when the heavy rains came, the prisoners would be subject to a flooded cell on top of the already uncomfortable stone bench and occasional visiting rat.

But Elsie murmured a soft "Don't worry, Da."

"What do you mean?" Colin asked, but Elsie held a finger to her lips.

The townspeople were returning from their homes, hunting rifles and horse reins in their hands. Elsie was horrified to see nearly _every_ member of their little village assembling.

"The women and children, too?" she whispered tearfully. "Oh, Da …"

Colin moved to stand by her side behind the gate. "They're afraid, my dear. And fear is the great motivator. Joe Burns has property, and he has money, but they're afraid of him, too. In the end, that's all that matters. If they stand by our side, they know he'll not take kindly to it when he returns."

The mob followed Joe out of the village square, and as soon as the last horse's tail turned the corner, Elsie was on her knees, pulling two long pins from her hair.

"Elsie?"

Her father watched with pointed interest as Elsie bent the pins and then reached her hands through the bars of the jail gate, lifted the padlock, and stuck the pins inside.

"What are you doing? Wait - I _know_ what you're doing. _How_ do you know how to do that?"

Elsie bit down a bit on her lip in concentration, feeling around a bit with one of the pins as she held the other in place, and she squealed in delight when the lock popped open. She pulled it from the bar and pushed the gate open, then turned back to her father.

"Would you believe an under butler taught me that?"

Colin just looked at her, then at the lock on the ground, and burst into laughter.

" _That_ is going to be quite a tale," he said as he took Elsie's hand.

"I'll be sure to tell it to you on the way to the castle," Elsie said.

"On the way to the- Elsie, you can't be serious!"

She turned to face him, tears in her eyes. "Da," she whispered. "Joe will _kill_ him. There's no doubt in my mind. And that mob? They'll kill them all."

He reached up and brushed her cheek. "Oh, my dear girl. You've grown fond of them, haven't you? Of … of _him?"_

She nodded.

Colin looked over to the fountain in the square, seeing the dangling rope from where someone had tied the horse that Elsie had ridden back to town.

"They stole your horse," he said.

"Well," she replied, taking his hand, "let's hope they forgot about Philippe."

Fortunately, they had.

Elsie managed to convince Colin to ride behind her in the saddle, and despite his protestations that they'd be too heavy for the horse (whom Elsie would have _sworn_ gave Colin a nasty look when he uttered those words), they managed to catch up to the mob sooner than expected.

"I can head to the stables and drop you off there, Papa," she was saying. "There's a back path in that I am certain they'd never find."

"Is it safe?"

Elsie's mind drifted back to the dogs, and she was glad for her father being behind her and unable to see her face as she spoke.

"Basically."

It was, thankfully, dog-free, and Elsie managed to steer Philippe and Colin to the very stable where Colin had spent his _last_ night at Downton.

"I'm going with you," Colin stated, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth then he collapsed in another fit of coughing, struggling to catch his breath.

"You most certainly are _not,"_ Elsie replied. "I'll not have it! You stay with Philippe. There'll be some food in the small shed next to the barn, and there's water in the trough for him as well. You need to rest, Da."

Colin gave in, knowing she was right; she had a knowledge of the property that he did not, and he'd only slow her down.

"Be careful, my dear," he whispered, drawing her in for a hug. "Do you know, you're so very much like your Mam?"

"Oh, Da," she murmured, kissing his cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Colin watched her as she fled to the castle, keeping herself nearly hidden in shadows as she approached the castle from behind.

The mob had arrived at the front gate, and Colin could both hear their shouts and see the orange glow of the torches.

"Godspeed, love," he whispered, turning to pat Philippe on the nose before fetching him some food.

oOoOoOoOo

The moment he'd seen the mirror in Elsie's hand, and realized what it was, something inside of Joe Burns had snapped. Gone were the desires to have her for his wife, to sire her children, and have her cater to his every whim.

He'd never seen anything like that mirror, and while he'd not have admitted it to another soul, living or dead, he'd been afraid of it. But when he'd seen the fear it brought to the entire village, he saw it as something much, _much_ more valuable: a chance, once and for all, to be their hero. It was an opportunity to get every single person in the village behind him, united in a common goal.

And once he was their hero, he'd have access to anything - and any _one_ \- he wanted.

He just needed Colin and Elsie Hughes out of the way. And what better way to make them leave forever than to kill the man in the mirror? After all, it had been Colin who'd told everyone about him initially, who'd said the man was boorish, mean, and unfair, and how he was keeping Elsie prisoner in the castle against her will.

 _Except Elsie seems to have forgotten about that,_ he reminded himself bitterly.

One thing was certain in his mind: if he managed to find that butler, then he'd win everything his heart desired.

oOoOoOoOo

"Mr. Carson?"

Charles turned, quickly closing the door to his rooms so that the young woman wouldn't be able to get a glimpse inside.

He didn't want _anyone_ to see inside. The rose was dying; he was sure of it. His time was up, and he'd just sent Elsie away forever.

"What is it, Daisy?"

He realized only then how frightened the young girl appeared to be.

"You have to come quickly! There's a commotion on the front lawns. Mrs. Patmore sent me to find you as fast as I could!"

She was terrified, and Charles rushed to the windows and peered outside.

He thought a _commotion_ was perhaps quite an understatement, indeed. It was more like a mob - dozens of people with guns, torches, and more - and there was quite a lot of shouting.

He turned back to Daisy only to find that she'd been joined by the rest of the staff.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, but they clearly did not know.

"Mr. Carson? What are we to do?"

The cook's voice was shaky, and Charles stood up a bit straighter, tugging on his waistcoat. He turned to Mr. Bates, the only one of them remaining in the household to have seen the ins and outs of war.

"You're opinion, Mr. Bates?"

"We're under attack, Mr. Carson. I don't know who they are or why they're here, but we need to defend ourselves."

Charles's eyebrows shot up. "Do you think we have a chance?"

It was Mr. Barrow who replied. "I don't think we have a choice. They're going to attack us anyhow. We may as well try."

"You've already locked up for the night," Mr. Bates added, "so that will slow them down. We have the weapons in the gun room, the protection of the castle's walls, and they've lost the element of surprise." Charles read what had gone unsaid, and gave the man a meaningful nod.

"How'd they know we were even here?" Daisy wondered aloud, and Charles looked guiltily at her.

"Never you mind," Mrs. Patmore said quickly, glancing at the butler. "It doesn't matter."

He hadn't realized she knew he gave Elsie the mirror, but of course she would have; otherwise, he'd be using it now to track the attackers.

"They're here now," she added, "so we'd best get to work." She was still talking even as she bustled down the corridor, with Daisy and Anna in her wake. "We've kettles of hot water already boiling, and there are even the knives in the kitchen if we need them …"

That left Miss Baxter and the men, who quickly formulated a plan: Charles would head to the attics, keeping the rose safe and making sure no one ever got to it. The rest of them would spread out and lie in wait for anyone who might manage to enter the castle.

"Don't kill them," Charles instructed. "Not unless your lives are in danger. These are just townspeople who are following a madman. They're wives and children, sons and fathers." He swallowed, glancing at the family portrait that hung near the library. "They're just like _this_ family ... in all the ways that matter, anyhow."

"Right," Mr. Barrow nodded. "Let's go then."

Charles watched them scatter, then made his way quickly up the steps to his rooms. He snatched up the rose, glancing at the only two petals that had yet to fall, and said a silent prayer as he continued on up to the roof.

He'd fibbed when he'd sworn to them he would stay locked away. After all, the roof was only accessible through the small staircase by Charles's bedroom, and he wasn't sure all of the staff members even knew that doorway existed. Mr. Bates knew, though, and when he'd caught Charles's eye as they all were discussing their options, Charles was reminded of what was _on_ the roof: a few loose cannonballs, leftover from the days when Downton needed more than just expansive lawns and forests to protect it. While there remained no cannons to fire them from, Charles figured the least he could do would be to roll a few off the edge and down to the ground below. The shock factor of it might just buy them some time, particularly if he could remain unseen. And the roof was the perfect spot to observe the entire situation in order to decide where he'd be most useful, as its short wall and stonework left him countless options for spots where he could hide.

The sounds of the mob grew louder, and Charles tucked himself into a corner by the west tower, his body hidden from view. He scanned the crowd in search of a leader, but he couldn't find one. The rain began to fall, and the wind picked up as Charles heard thunder in the distance and saw a bolt of lightning strike a tree at the far edge of the forest.

There was an enormous _BOOM,_ and Charles realized that the crowd must have sourced some kind of battering ram and were actually breaking their way into the front doors, their shouts blending into a cacophony of anger, through which he could make out the words "kill" and something sounding like "beast."

Tucking the rose away in a corner, he lifted one of the cannonballs, peered down to be sure it would land very near to but not actually _on_ the attackers, and pushed it over the edge.

There was a great roar from the crowd.

"Someone's up on the roof!" one man shouted.

"Can we climb up?" yelled another. "Look! There are spots in the bricks."

Charles readied another ball on the other side of the tower, pushing it down and then rushing back to his original spot to locate a third. There were only four in total, but as long as the precious rose remained tucked away, he was prepared to go back down and join in the fight.

But just as the fourth cannonball made its way to the ground below, Charles heard the scrape of the door.

 _No,_ he thought, _it can't be …_

Joe Burns stood on the other side of the roof, ready to fight. Charles realized immediately who he must be, and fear instantly flooded his body. The man was younger, broader, and clearly full of fury. Undoubtedly he'd scaled the wall to the lower balcony, then broken into the house and quickly located the stairway to the rooftop. He was therefore strong, quick-thinking, and determined.

And Joe was standing mere feet away from where Charles had just placed the rose.

Charles glanced quickly at the flower, he saw another petal fall, and he realized that he had nothing to lose. He lunged at the younger man, whose eyes opened wide in surprise.

What he didn't expect was Joe's laughter.

Or the knife in his hand.

"You?" Joe shouted, and Charles knew then, simply by the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes, that the man was fueled by madness and not just anger. He watched as Joe came toward him, hands outstretched, and he kept his eyes trained on the long, gleaming blade in Joe's hand.

"Get out," Charles growled, "or you'll be sorry."

"Sorry?! I don't think so, old man," Joe spat, coming closer and backing Charles up toward the wall that made the roof's edge. "You're the one who'll be sorry. Who do you think you are, kidnapping old men and their daughters and forcing them to stay here against their will?"

"It wasn't like that," Charles began, but Joe lunged at him, making him lose his balance. Charles reached out and managed to grab hold of Joe's shirt, but they both stumbled and landed against the edge of the wall. Joe saw his chance and swung his arm out, slicing a gash in Charles's forearm.

Charles cried out in pain, but the sound was cut short as he caught sight of something moving at the edge of his line of vision.

"Mrs. Hughes?" It came from his lips in a whisper, and while Joe couldn't hear him as the wind whipped around the towers, he followed the man's eyes to where Elsie stood frozen by the door to the roof, her eyes trying to take in everything that was happening.

"Joe! _No!"_ she screamed, but even as she stepped one foot forward toward them, she knew she had no time. Joe stared into her eyes and slowly lifted his hand; from where he stood just behind the butler, even he couldn't believe how easy it was. The horror on Elsie's face filled him with satisfaction, and he brought the knife down.

Charles didn't feel anything at first, so intent was he on keeping Mrs. Hughes safe. But when Joe withdrew the knife from his side, Charles grunted loudly and spun sideways, and Joe lost his balance and fell against the wall, its short height against his calves the only thing keeping him from falling over the edge.

"How _dare_ you?" Charles yelled.

"You should have let her come back to me, to be _my_ wife!"

"You don't _deserve_ her!" Those words were a growl, and the anger in Charles's eyes as he uttered them filled Joe with fear.

"Do you actually think she'd ever choose someone like _you_ over someone like _me?"_ Joe laughed in Charles's face and attempted to push the man aside, but he was unsuccessful.

And then fate intervened once more.

The edge of the wall Joe was leaning against crumbled, and as the battering ram hit the door one final time, breaking it open at last, the weight of Joe's body shifted.

"I ought to kill you," Charles said, keeping an eye both on Joe and also on the edge of the roof - to which he himself was now precariously close.

Joe stumbled and lost his footing, tripped on a loose stone, and fell over the edge. He grasped onto the bricks that hadn't crumbled, the knife falling to the darkness below.

"No!" Charles shouted, instantly reaching for the man's hands.

The rain had made everything slick, and Joe screamed in terror when his grip slipped. Charles reached a hand down and Joe managed to grab hold, each man's hand wrapped around the other's wrist, but the movements of Joe's body in the furious wind and his heavy weight were more than Charles expected.

Elsie watched in horror, frozen to the spot where she stood, even as she heard the staff - and Colin Hughes - assemble behind her. Mr. Barrow had told her when she arrived that she'd find Mr. Carson up on the roof, but the last thing she'd expected was to see Joe Burns fall over its edge. She felt Anna's hand reach for her own, and she squeezed it firmly, knowing that if any of them were to approach the fighting men, the likelihood was great that _both_ would fall to their deaths.

Charles was struggling to hang on to Joe, whose hand was sweating and slipping from his grip, and he felt a war within his mind and his heart.

On the one hand, he felt pity for the despicable man who was struggling to keep hold in order to scramble over the castle wall. Joe's eyes were wide and filled with terror, and part of Charles couldn't bear to imagine seeing the man fall to his death and know he'd been unable to save him.

On the other hand, Charles felt nothing but protectiveness for Mrs. Hughes. _For Elsie,_ he thought, the name he'd come to call her in his mind on those nights when he was seated alone in his rooms, contemplating whether or not she returned the feelings he'd recently discovered within his own heart, feelings of love and kindness that he'd thought long-since gone. Somewhere over the last weeks, his focus had shifted from the rapidly-dying rose sequestered away in his rooms to the quickly-blossoming love within his own heart.

It was a desire to protect her that burned brightly inside him now, now that he knew that Joe was mad - truly mad - and not madly in love with Elsie Hughes. The desire to keep Elsie from _that_ sort of life was strong.

But the butler's humanity was stronger. He could feel Elsie's eyes upon him, and even if it cost him his own life, he knew he'd never win her heart if he'd sacrificed another man's life in order to do it. It simply wasn't part of who she was … and, more importantly, it wasn't who _he_ was, either.

Charles reached his other hand down toward Joe. "Grab hold!" he shouted against the wind. "I can't pull you up with only one arm!"

Joe's eyes widened even further. "I can't!" he shouted back, looking fearfully at his two hands which were now clenched onto the butler's uninjured arm. "And that arm's injured!" he added.

"You have to trust me!" Charles pleaded.

But, in the flash of one more bolt of lightning, the decision was - quite literally - taken out of his hands.

Just as Joe loosened the grip of his right hand, readying himself to grasp onto Charles's other arm, an enormous gust of wind blew up. It jostled Joe's body against the wall of the Abbey, bumping him just enough that he let go with his other hand as well. It may have been the fear, the knowing what was to come, that made him give up at that point … or it may have simply been that he wasn't as strong as he thought. Regardless, the fingers with which he was still clutching on to the butler's hand slipped from the older man's grasp, and Charles watched in horror as Joe plummeted to the ground below.

"No," he whispered before he, too, slid down his own side of the wall, ending on his knees.

It was only then that Charles looked down at his stomach, at the dark red that had spread across the stark white of his livery. He gingerly touched the area below his bottom rib and growled in pain when he located the wound. He was trying desperately to keep hold of his consciousness, but he was losing the battle.

Charles felt a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness and shifted to lie on his side. He closed his eyes, and the one thought he had was that of all the places he thought he'd die at Downton Abbey, the rooftop had never crossed his mind.

"Mr. Carson! _Charles!"_

The shout startled him, and he opened his eyes again. Charles watched as Elsie ran to him, falling to her knees beside him as he struggled to speak.

"You … came back," he breathed.

"Shh, don't try to talk," she said, her voice wavering. "Mr. Barrow has gone to get help." She tried to roll him over, encouraging him to sit, to do _anything_ that would keep him conscious.

"You came back," he repeated. "But … why?"

"Of course I came back, you daft man!" she replied. "I couldn't leave you … not forever. Oh, Charles, this is all my fault! If only I'd gotten here sooner …"

"Shh." He reached a hand out to her, and she clasped it between hers. "You … You called me Charles," he said, wincing at the pain in his side.

"Would you prefer 'Charlie'?'" she retorted with a smirk.

He smiled, and then everything before his eyes began to swim as the dizziness returned full force. He slid down to a lying position again, and Elsie became instantly aware that his injuries were worse than she'd feared.

"At least … at least I got to see you one last time," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Don't you dare leave me, Charles Carson," she said tearfully.

But he didn't open his eyes.

"Charles? _Charles!_ Don't you _dare_ leave me!"

She reached her hands to the sides of his face, caressing it and brushing the rain off of his brow.

"Don't you dare," she repeated in a whisper. "You can't leave me, Charles. I love you."

She collapsed on top of him, her arms spread across his broad chest as she hugged him, tears pouring down her cheeks and mixing in with the now gently-falling rain.

Neither of them noticed as the last petal fell from the rose.

It was Anna who moved first, nudged forward by Mr. Bates. She quickly crossed the roof, intent on retrieving the rose's stem as Mrs. Patmore rushed to Elsie's side.

And then, there was a shift in the wind.

Time seemed to slow, almost stop, as the gusting wind turned to a gentle breeze and the rain stopped falling. Elsie lifted her head from Charles's chest and saw an old woman standing before her.

"Violet," Colin whispered, and several of the staff turned to face him.

"You know the king's mother?" Mr. Barrow asked incredulously.

A faint smile broke out on Colin's face, but his gaze was still trained on the magnificent older woman, watching as she stood a bit taller, her beggar's clothing and gnarled stick transforming before their very eyes into a long, gold and purple gown and an ebony cane graced with a crystal orb, as her matted hair loosened into long, wavy silver locks that trailed down her back.

"In a manner of speaking," he whispered, and then he said no more.

"Charles Carson," Violet said quietly, "rise and stand before me."

"But he's hurt, and-" Elsie began tearfully, but Violet raised her hand to silence her.

Elsie scrambled away from Charles and stood up, then watched in astonishment as he maneuvered himself to his feet as though he had no pain at all. She glanced at his arm and then at his stomach, saw the blood stains disappearing, and realized that in a few seconds he would be completely uninjured.

"Oh, Carson," Violet said. "You've done it. I knew you had it in you."

"Your Highness," he replied, bowing in her direction. "You'll forgive me, but _I_ didn't. I'm as surprised as anyone else here." He looked over to Elsie, then back at Violet. "I understand now," he murmured. "More than I ever could have before. _Thank you."_

Violet tittered, a small, joyful laugh that made Elsie smile. "Well, Carson? I believe there are a couple of other formalities for you to be getting on with." She turned to look out over the Abbey's land, and could just make out the sight of her family returning in the distance. "And there's no time like present, is there?"

He cleared his throat and tugged on his waistcoat, then approached Elsie and held his hands out to her, grateful when she smiled brilliantly and took them in her own.

"Elsie Hughes," he said quietly, well aware of everyone's eyes on him, "it appears that I'm about to retire. While I thought I'd die in this place, destined to haunt it forever, that no longer appears to be where my future lies."

Elsie trained her eyes on his chest, allowing her gaze to trail down to where he'd been stabbed, and gently ran her fingers over the now blemish-free spot of his livery.

"We all bear scars, Miss Hughes," Violet said quietly, so that only Elsie and Charles could hear her. "It takes a special person to look beyond them and see the beauty that lies within."

Elsie glanced over at her father, at the friends who'd become family to her in such a short period of time. She thought back to her trip to Glasgow with Charles, to what she'd learned about her past, and thought of everything her father had been through - all the days and years of hard work, a life full of love despite its difficult and sad beginnings. And then she thought of the painting over the fireplace in Charles's rooms, of the anger that had destroyed it, and of the happiness that it had once represented.

"That it does," Elsie agreed, her gaze upon Charles's face once more.

"Oh, and Carson?" Violet added, already turned and walking way. "Happy Birthday."

Elsie's eyebrows raised, but she said nothing.

Charles cleared his throat. "Yes well … Oh! By the way, Mrs. Hughes … _Elsie_ … I love you, too," he said, and Elsie threw back her head and laughed.

"That's a bit of a delayed reaction, Mr. Carson," she chuckled. "But I think I can forgive you."

"And we'll need a place to live," he said. "That is, if you're willing to be stuck with a daft old man like me."

"Do you like farming, Charlie?" Elsie teased. "Because, as it happens, I have this wonderful little place in mind. It's in a quiet village just outside of Downton."

"I'd be willing to give it a try," he whispered, lowering his head towards hers.

Elsie closed her eyes in electrified anticipation, but just before Charles's lips reached hers, she felt his whispered breath.

"Elsie Hughes, will you marry me?" he asked.

She stood on her tiptoes and captured his lips with her own, her hands trailing up his chest and to the back of his neck, where her fingers found gentle purchase in his hair, and she smiled as he deepened the kiss, his hands now resting firmly around her waist.

When they broke apart, she rested her hands on his chest once more.

He raised his prodigious eyebrows in silent question, and she giggled.

" _Yes,"_ she said emphatically. "I thought you'd never ask."

 **A/N:** And there we have it, friends … a happy ending for Charles and Elsie, Colin, and the entire household of Downton Abbey. But, we couldn't just leave you wondering what happened next. There will be one last chapter, the epilogue, then we will end the tale of The Cursed Butler.

Thank you so much from the bottoms of our hearts for your unwavering support and enthusiasm for this labor of love. We had such fun writing it and sharing it with you. We hope we have lived up to your expectations, perhaps even exceeded them in some instances!

With love and hugs,

Csota and Hogwarts Duo


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 22: Epilogue**

Elsie stood at the kitchen window and looked out at the impressive garden her husband had worked so hard to cultivate for her. It was a proper English garden, he'd often said, for his beautiful Scottish rose. She smiled to herself as she took a deep breath and reveled in the beautiful colors and varieties of flowers her view afforded her.

Charles had spared no expense when it came to their little garden. He had worked diligently and conferred with several local gardeners about what might work best with the soil and his limited experience. In the end, he had created a masterpiece of love for his bride. Foxgloves, garden peonies, larkspur, lavender, and various shades of roses were just a sampling of the diverse flowers in their little patch of heaven. He had even splurged and had a wooden bench crafted so they could enjoy summer evenings amongst the heady scents of the flowers and the large bird bath that took pride of place in the center of it all.

He had tried, bless him, to become a proper farmer, working the land and raising crops which could be used for their own food and to sell, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't quite get the hang of it all. Even with Colin's tutelage, the crops never seemed to produce, and after much discussion and several frustrated tries from Charles, he decided to turn his attentions to the flower garden and left the other one to those more skilled. Not long after that, Charles and Colin had hired some of the local lads to help with the farming, giving Colin more time to devote to his clocks and trips to local village fairs.

Charles and Elsie had settled in quite nicely at their new cottage. The Queen Mother had purchased the land and home owned by Joe Burns and completely renovated it as a wedding gift for the former butler and housekeeper of Downton Abbey. She had also paid all of the taxes owed on the Hughes farm and ensured that all future bills would be sent directly to her. She had made it very clear that neither Charles, Elsie, nor Mr. Hughes were to argue with the arrangement, stating that it was the very least she could do since the butler and housekeeper, though her time had been brief, had taken excellent care of the Abbey during the family's absence.

Elsie had been so caught up in gazing at her little garden and happy memories that she failed to hear Charles entering the house. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched her for a moment, still marveling at his luck in finding such a wonderful woman with whom he could share his life and heart. Silently, he crept up behind her, slipped his arm around her waist, and presented her with a single, deep red, Checkmate rose.

His lips were soft against the side of her neck and his breath caused her to shiver with desire and excitement. She leaned back into his embrace, bringing the rose to her nose and breathing in its lovely aroma, as her head lolled to the side encouraging him to continue his slow exploration.

He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. "Hello, love," he whispered against the shell of her ear. "I saw that rose and thought of you. I think it's one of my best yet."

"It's beautiful. Thank you," she replied, a soft sigh escaping her lips as he continued to lavish her with his full attention. His hands were warm against her belly and hips, his strong fingers caressing and teasing her as only he knew how. His breaths, and hers, too, were growing arduous, laced with desire and need, want and love. When his hand gently cupped her breast through the cream colored blouse and gave her a gentle massage, she groaned loudly and felt her knees beginning to weaken. She was in fear of losing herself in his touch, and they couldn't afford that luxury. They would simply have to resume this amorous discussion later in the evening.

Despite her body's protests and her desperate yearning that they continue, to retire to their bedroom and devote the rest of the morning to giving and receiving pleasure, Elsie pulled back a little from him. After carefully placing the rose on the counter, she turned in his arms and draped hers over his shoulders, locking them at the back of his neck. When he groaned at the disruption, she quickly pecked him on the lips. "Patience, Mr. Carson. We have somewhere we need to be this afternoon and I daresay you'd not be pleased if we missed it, regardless of the reason."

He rested his forehead against hers and grinned. She was right, as always. Even to this day, she was his very practical Mrs. Hughes at heart. "This is a proud day, Mrs. Carson."

"I wouldn't say I'm proud, but I'm very glad you're happy." And she truly meant it. She slipped deeper into his embrace and rested her head against his chest, content to snuggle there for a few moments to enjoy the closeness. With his strong arms wrapped around her and his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, she knew deep down that this was the kind of love the poets often wrote about in their sonnets.

Unfortunately, every poem had its ending and so would this lovely moment shared with her husband. It could not be helped, though, as they were on a tight schedule, and Charles would be horrified if they were late for such an important event involving one of the members of the family.

Ever since the return of the Crawleys, Elsie Carson had witnessed the way Princess Mary could twist Charles around her little finger. It had annoyed her at first, watching as the spoiled and somewhat demanding young woman would ask so much of others, seemingly giving little in return in the way of gratitude. But, over time, she had come to make peace with that side of things, knowing that if her husband could love the princess, she could, at the very least, learn to tolerate her for his benefit and happiness.

And, in some respects, Elsie owed this woman and her entire family a debt she could never repay. It had been their misfortune, and Charles's too, that he had been cursed. She had come to the rational conclusion that if those events had not occurred, she would never have crossed paths with this kind and loving man she now had the privilege to call her husband. Her father would, most likely, still be worrying about money and the land, struggling to repair clocks in order to keep the farm afloat. It hadn't been an ideal start down this other pathway, but the rewards were beyond anything she had ever imagined.

"What time are we supposed to pick up your father? He is going, isn't he?" Charles brushed his lips against the top of her head and rested his head there a moment later.

She opened her eyes and stole a glance at the cherished clock which took pride of place on their mantle. It was the same clock she had rescued from the stable all those many years ago and which stood as a stark reminder that each moment was precious as were the people with whom they shared it. "I told him we'd leave around one o'clock. That should give us plenty of time. I know you said you wanted to stop by the house first."

"Mmm, indeed. Princess Mary has asked that I be there, though I'm not entirely sure why. Mr. Barrow is the butler now, so there's nothing for me to oversee in that respect."

"My darling man, she loves you and wants to make sure you're there for her most important day."

"As if I'd miss it," he scoffed.

She shook her head and laughed as she leaned back to look into his eyes. "No one is saying you would. I'm sure she simply wants a moment alone with you. After all, you've been her greatest champion, and I would venture so far as to say her best friend at times." She decided against adding that perhaps he was her _only_ friend most of the time.

Charles beamed proudly at that thought. He'd loved each of the Crawley girls, but Mary had been his favorite from the start. They had shared so many happy and somewhat secretive memories … from her wanting to run away, to her thoughts on having a new sister and then another, and everything in between. "Even a butler has his favorites, my lady," he teased.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "Princess Mary does not deserve you, Mr. Carson! Truth be told, I'm not sure I do, either."

He pulled back from her and gripped her upper arms gently but firmly. "You are a woman of integrity and honor, Elsie, who raises the tone of this house by being part of it, by loving me, and accepting my love in return. While I cherish the family and will always be incredibly grateful for their generosity, you will always come first in my eyes and especially in my heart."

She brushed her fingertips across his smooth cheek and down the side of his neck causing him to tremble in anticipation. Her touch had always caused a little spark within him to ignite, ever since that first day their fingertips had touched at the stable, and marriage had not changed that one bit.

"And if we don't stop flannelling and get on with it, we'll be late for picking up Da, and you won't make it to Downton Abbey in time. And heaven knows I do not want to be the cause of that." She patted his bottom and gave it a naughty pinch. "But, I do hope we can continue this little conversation later this evening, when we're all settled in for the night."

"You can count on it, Elsie." In return, he smoothed his large hand across her bottom then, without warning, gave it a playful smack. She yelped and squirmed out of his arms, walking away with an exaggerated swing to her hips as she went to their bedroom to change into her Sunday best. Charles chuckled to himself and followed her, reciting a few lines from one of his favorite poems by Byron:

 _She walks in beauty, like the night_

 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

 _And all that's best of dark and bright_

 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes._

The marriage of Princess Mary to a solicitor named Matthew had been the highlight of endless days of preparation for the servants of Downton Abbey. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had truly outdone themselves with the cake and all of the little nibbly bits served to the guests. Mr. Barrow had, much to Charles's surprise, paired the wines almost perfectly, proving that he had been listening. The housemaids and footmen, under Mrs. Baxter's supervision as the new housekeeper, had everything gleaming and practically spotless. And to make the day even more special, Anna had secretly confided in Elsie that she and Mr. Bates were planning a small, quiet wedding of their own. Once things settled down at the Abbey and the banns were read, she hoped Elsie would consider helping her plan the whole affair.

Violet and Colin sat in a corner of the reception room watching as the youngsters enjoyed the music and excitement of the day.

"I must thank you, again, Mr. Hughes, for helping me gain back my family, and for everything your daughter has done for my son, his wife, and their daughters."

"I don't know what you mean, Your Highness. It is _we_ who owe _you_ the thanks, and not just for the gifts of the lands and tax relief. It's much more than that. I've never seen Elsie happier. It is a debt that I know I will never be able to repay."

"The same could be said for Carson, too. I've known him since he was a lad, and she brings out the best in him. They complement each other well." Her eyes drifted through the crowd and landed firmly on the couple in question, watching as they greeted the new bride and her husband. "You know, Carson has always been like a downstairs father to my granddaughter. He was blindly devoted to her until …" She trailed off, not wishing to dredge up the curse and all that entailed.

"The same could be said of my Elsie. I fear she would have given up everything and every opportunity for happiness if … ahem, if _fate_ … hadn't intervened to show her another way."

Violet smirked to herself. _Fate, indeed!_ "Then, we must all be grateful that events turned out as they have." She gave him a rare smile then quickly changed the subject. "Now, you must speak to my gardener about the fertilizer for our roses. I fear if Carson enters the flower show this year, I may lose the coveted award, and we can't have that."

After an exhausting, but joyful day, Charles and Elsie finally collapsed into their own bed. With the windows opened to allow the gentle breeze to cool the room, they pulled the sheet over them and settled into each other's arms.

"It was a lovely ceremony, don't you think?" Charles's fingertips danced lazily up and down Elsie's back over the thin material of her nightdress as she curled into his side.

"It was, though not as beautiful as ours," she answered honestly. "While they had everything planned to perfection, I prefer our much simpler ceremony. Though, to be fair, I might just be a little bit biased. You see, I was marrying this handsome man, who was rumored to be a beast, but who turned out to be a cuddly bear."

"A bear?" He shifted so that she was beneath him, his eyes dancing with mischief as he hovered over her. "Is that what you think of me?"

She slipped her hands beneath this pyjama top and lightly scratched his chest and sides with her nails. "You certainly sound that way, sometimes, especially when you growl in my ear," she said, slipping her foot up and down his leg teasingly, hoping to continue their amorous adventures from earlier in the day.

He hissed in delight as his body began to react to her touches and the sounds she was making thanks to his attentions. "And here I was thinking you saw me as an ornery old curmudgeon when you first met me."

"Curmudgeon or bear … doesn't matter," she said, quickly maneuvering from beneath Charles and shifting so that he was now beneath her. "Either way … you're mine and that makes all the difference." She began slowly unbuttoning his pyjama shirt, teasing him with her eyes and with softly spoken promises of pleasures they would enjoy together.

His last thought before giving himself over to the wonderful and pleasurable attentions of his wife was how magnificent it felt to finally love and be loved, warts and all. And, of that, he had never been so sure of anything.

Charles and Elsie Carson would live as closely as two people can for the rest of their days, filling their little cottage with happy memories, friends, family, and always fresh roses on their bedside table.

 **The End!**

 **A/N:** This has been such an incredibly journey with you and ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and I thank you from the bottoms of our hearts for each and every review (signed and guest). You have made this labor of love even more enjoyable for us and we cannot thank you enough. If you have a moment, hop over to our Tumblr pages (Chelsie-Carson and CSOTA) and take a peek at the amazing artwork by our friend, DameofDowntstairs. Her 3 panel series for the story is out of this world! With love and thanks … we now bid you adieu … until next time!


End file.
